


Keep On Rocking

by Sokkas_First_Fangirl



Series: I Lay My Life Before You [12]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alpha Brian, Alpha Paul, Alpha Roger Taylor (Queen), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Best Friends, Beta John, Don't copy to another site, Dysfunctional Family, Epic Bromance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Issues, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Freddie and Roger trolling everyone, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Male Friendship, Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Violence, Objectification, Omega Discrimination, Omega Freddie Mercury, Omega Verse, Pack Dynamics, Paul Prenter Being an Asshole, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Protective Freddie Mercury, Protective Roger Taylor (Queen), Punching, Rating May Change, Scenting, Team as Family, but only a little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-06-28 19:25:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 33,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokkas_First_Fangirl/pseuds/Sokkas_First_Fangirl
Summary: He’d sworn to protect Freddie, but how could he do that when they were surrounded by Alphas who looked at Freddie and saw a toy, not a person? Damn it, he had started this, there had to be a way to keep this up convincingly.“When have you ever seen them do more than hold hands?”First things first then: do more than hold hands. Which meant...'Christ,' Roger thought, eyes popping. 'I have to kiss Freddie, don’t I?'Otherwise known as: faking a relationship has it's ups and downs; it has it's awkward moments and it's confusing moments, but Roger and Freddie make it work.(Also known as Roger and Freddie making the best of an odd situation and trolling everyone.)





	1. Roger: Let The Flames Begin

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are at last: snippets of Freddie and Roger's fake relationship. These won't be in order, some will be longer than others; some will be fluffy, some will be serious and some will be plain out dumb, but that's just how things work around here. I don't intend for it to be too long, but you know what I said the same thing about this entire AU, and look where we are now.
> 
> As always, if anyone has any requests or prompts I'm always open to hearing them ❤

**December, 1973** **  
** **_“I give it all my oxygen, so let the flames begin. So let the flames begin. Oh glory. Oh glory. This is how we'll dance when, when they try to take us down. This is what we'll be, oh glory.” -Let The Flames Begin,_ ** **Paramore**

Roger should have expected this would happen eventually. Couples did a lot more than just hold hands or cuddle in public (speaking as someone who’d once seen a couple shagging in the street he  _ knew _ ); he hadn’t exactly lived up to the possessive Alpha stereotype, the stereotype that the likes of Foster and Sheffield would believe.

It started when he overheard Prenter talking to Foster. He was just walking down the corridor, heading back to Freddie and the others, when he spotted them.

“I’m just  _ saying, _ ” Prenter said, clearly out of patience with the topic. “When have you ever seen them do more than hold hands? They didn’t seem all lovey-dovey until Roger caught me staring at Freddie. Even Reid didn’t think they were dating when we met them. No one had mentioned it. Don’t you think it seems a  _ little  _ suspicious?”

_ Oh God,  _ Roger thought.  _ Oh no. _

He ducked back behind the corner, breathing heavily. He suddenly felt sick. He felt weak-kneed. Oh God, if Foster believed Prenter...If he figured out Roger and Freddie were faking he’d go to Sheffield. If Sheffield thought they were faking, if he could prove it, he’d hand Freddie off to the highest bidder, or take him for himself. If they could prove Freddie and Roger weren’t dating, Freddie would be forced to be some Alpha’s sex toy under EMI’s contract. 

_“Any and all unclaimed Omega artists will be assigned an Alpha by EMI executives. Finances will be handled by said Alpha and the Omega is to treat them as they would their respective Alpha. The appointed Alpha will have the right to demand any service of the Omega artist; they can claim their share of the Omega’s earnings, they will have equal input on the Omega’s songs and are permitted to make any demand of the Omega artist they see fit, be it in the work environment or outside it.”_

_Don't believe him, don't listen, please ignore him..._

Thank God, Foster laughed. “Get a grip,” he said. “You’re not subtle, Paul; everyone knows you want to fuck that Omega.”

“But  _ think  _ about it. I’ve never heard of them going on dates, or celebrating an anniversary; hell, they’ve never said  _ when  _ they started dating,” Prenter persisted. “Anyone can mark an Omega, it doesn’t necessarily  _ mean  _ anything.”

_ Fuck.  _ Prenter had been pissed ever since Roger started marking Freddie. He'd stopped trying to touch him so much, but he hadn't _stopped._ He still invaded Freddie's personal space, he still stared at him religiously, he still made comments on Freddie's figure or what he was wearing. The mark had frightened him off, but not enough. 

_ He really must be desperate, _ Roger thought, and it was _terrifying._

Foster was quiet. He hummed thoughtfully. Roger chanced a glance around the corner and saw Foster tug on his bead, frowning.

“Well, you may have a point,” he said. 

_ No, no he doesn’t. Don’t listen to him. Freddie’s marked, you can’t prove anything. _

“Or maybe they’re just not that serious,” Foster continued. For a moment, Roger got his hopes up that Foster would end the conversation.

“But if they’re  _ faking, _ you can do whatever you want with Freddie,” Prenter said, his voice turning sly. He was starting to smile. “He signed that contract of his own free will. Think about it: people are going crazy over him. Sales shot up right after that nude photoshoot. If you had total control over him you could set up  _ more  _ photoshoots like that. And I know Sheffield’s not the only one with an eye on him. If you got people to  _ pay  _ to fuck him...”

“He’d be worth a pretty penny,” Foster said thoughtfully. 

_ What the fuck is WRONG with you!?  _ Roger wanted to scream. How could Foster just  _ stand  _ there and ponder selling Freddie off like it was nothing? What kind of monsters were they dealing with?

When he’d grabbed Freddie’s hand at that first meeting with Reid, it had been to frighten Prenter off. The guy gave him the creeps and he’d clearly been making Freddie nervous. As soon as Reid said Prenter would be  _ looking after them,  _ Roger decided it would be best to just keep up the act, and Freddie agreed. 

He hadn’t realised just what kind of Alphas they’d be dealing with down the line.

When they first met Foster and read their contract, Roger had been weak with relief that he’d suggested they keep up the act; when they met Sheffield it just cemented that they had to keep this up, at least until they could get a better deal with another record company.

Prenter and Foster started to walk away, still talking and Roger wanted to throw up. He wanted to scream. He wanted to push Prenter down those damn stairs and break his fucking neck. He wanted Foster to drop dead on the spot. His mind was swirling with panic.

He’d sworn to protect Freddie, but how could he do that when they were surrounded by Alphas who looked at Freddie and saw a toy, not a person?

Damn it, he had started this, there had to be a way to keep this up convincingly. 

_ “When have you ever seen them do more than hold hands?” _

First things first then: do more than hold hands. Which meant...

_ Christ,  _ Roger thought, eyes popping.  _ I have to kiss Freddie, don’t I? _

  
  
  
  
  
  


In a perfect world he’d have been able to find Freddie and warn him in advance; he’d have pulled him aside and explained what he overheard. They’d have gotten their stories straight, made up a fake anniversary date, come up with some bullshit to keep Foster satisfied.

As it was, he couldn’t find Fred in time. Freddie and the others had already gone back down to the lobby; by the time Roger caught up with them, Foster was coming down with Reid.

Roger came running down the last few steps just as Foster, Reid and Prenter exited the lift. Foster was frowning at Freddie like he was an irritating insect and Prenter was staring like he always did: predatory and hungry. Reid didn’t even seem to realise, too engrossed in going over the sales of their latest album.

Well, no time like the present.

“Hey, Freddie!” he called, marching over to their resident Omega.

Freddie turned with a smile; his brown eyes brightened when he saw him, he tucked his hair behind his ear and just started to say, “Hi, Rog,” when Roger grabbed him and kissed him.

He was faintly aware of a  _ plopping _ noise and supposed Deacy had dropped his sandwich. Brian said, “Oh!” but Roger’s main concern was Freddie.

He held on tight, one hand tangled in Freddie’s long hair, the other pressing down on the small of his back, keeping him as close as possible, though he’d be damned if his hand went any lower; he was already pushing the limits terribly, he was already taking the risk that Freddie would push him off or freak out. Oh fuck, what if he just ruined everything? What if Freddie thought Roger was just an entitled creep now? He had enough people touching him without permission without adding his best friend to that list.

But thank God, Freddie seemed to realise there was a  _ point  _ to this. He raised his arms hesitantly, paused for a brief second, before wrapping his arms around Roger’s neck. All Roger could smell was flowers and spices, all he could taste was the toffee Freddie'd been chewing earlier, all he could think was,  _ Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t panic. _

“Oh yeah, they’re faking,” he heard Foster scoff. “Keep the jealousy to yourself next time, Prenter; it’s not doing me any good.”

Once he heard that, Roger pulled back. Freddie’s eyes fluttered open; he looked completely stunned, letting out a shaky little laugh.

“What was that for, darling?” he asked.

Forcing a smile onto his face, Roger trailed his hand from Freddie’s hair, down to his cheek.

“Just felt like it,” he said, minutely jerking his head towards Foster and Prenter.

Freddie’s eyes flew to their little audience. “Oh,” he mumbled, leaning into Roger’s hand. “That’s alright then.”

“If you two are quite done,” Reid called. “We have numbers to look at.”

_ Fuck, Fred, I promise I’ll explain everything later. _

He caught Deacy and Brian’s stunned gazes: he had a  _ lot  _ of explaining to do.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“So they’re onto us,” Freddie said quietly. They were finally home, all in the living room. Freddie curled up small in the armchair, tucking his knees under his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs.

“Well, hopefully not anymore,” Brian said. “But God, Rog, I think you shocked a couple years off my life.”

“You owe me a sandwich,” Deacy said flatly.

Roger barely heard them. “You okay, Fred?” he asked.

“I hate them,” Freddie said for the thousandth time. “I just...I know I keep saying being an Omega’s not a bad thing and it’s  _ not,  _ but...People like that really make me hate being an Omega sometimes.”

“Sorry if I scared you,” Roger said, for what was at least the tenth time during this conversation. Freddie shrugged with a wry smile, avoiding eye contact.

“I’ve had worse,” he said. It was true. Roger had been present for a lot of what constituted as  _ worse.  _

“So...We’d uh, better have a talk about boundaries…” Roger ventured. Freddie tilted his head, smirking at him.

“I’m not having sex with you, dear, I don’t care how good your reputation is,” Freddie said brightly.

As relieved as he was to see Freddie smiling again, Roger threw a pillow at him, laughing. “You’d be damn  _ honoured! _ ...But seriously, was that okay?”

“I am  _ not  _ staying for this,” Deacy muttered. “Good night, you lunatics.” He slouched off to his and Freddie’s room. Clearly amused, Brian stood up and stretched.

“Yeah, he has the right idea. Good night, guys.”

And then there were two.

“...It was fine,” Freddie mumbled. “Just warn me next time.”

“Will do,” Roger said. And, slightly desperate; “You’re really not mad?”

“I’m not, I promise. It was just- just a shock, that’s all.”

“Good,” Roger said, breathing a sigh of relief. “That’s...Good.” He still felt awkward and embarrassed and it was obvious Freddie felt the same, but...Well, it could have been much worse. And it was definitely a weird thing, kissing his best mate, but he’d had weirder.

“So...Kissing’s okay?” Roger checked again.

Freddie ducked his head; he looked like he was trying not to laugh, but he nodded. “I mean, you already marked me, darling,” he said, brushing his hair off his neck; the mark on his neck was still fairly obvious, but it was starting to fade. “It can’t get much odder. If we can work with that, we can work with this, right?”

“Right,” Roger smiled.

He was starting to feel the impulse to laugh; this whole situation was just bizarre. All he’d wanted was to keep Freddie safe from Prenter, he hadn’t expected things to spiral like this.

But he didn’t regret it.

They made the mistake of making eye-contact. Freddie’s eyes were gleaming, Roger’s lip twitched and that did it; within seconds they were howling with laughter, nearly falling off their seats.

“This just gets weirder and weirder, huh?” Roger gasped. Freddie nodded, pressing his hands over his mouth in an attempt to calm down. Roger didn’t even bother; he laughed freely. So long as Deacy and Brian weren’t yelling at them to shut up, he figured they were fine.

But eventually they calmed down, much more relaxed and much more worn out.

Yawning, Freddie stumbled to his feet. “Well, we’re recording all day tomorrow, so I’m off to bed. We can have some in-depth discussion about boundaries later, okay?” Roger nodded, pushing himself off the sofa.

“Try not to look so worried, darling,” Freddie said, poking him on the nose. He winked and added, “You’re quite a good kisser.”

Laughing at Roger’s stunned face, Freddie practically sashayed down the corridor. 

“Oh, fuck off, Fred!” Roger called. He hurled the pillow again- Freddie must have had a sixth sense for these things, because he ducked and kept walking.

Right.  _ That  _ happened. Kissing. That was a thing the were doing now. Well, fake it ‘til you make it and all that. Really, how hard could it be?

And the shocked, pissed off look on Prenter’s face? That just made things even better.


	2. Roger: Be Somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Freddie's heat makes him worryingly ill, and Roger hates to feel helpless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the basics, lads: like "I Lay My Life Before You," this'll all only be Roger and Freddie's POV.  
> I've said it before and I'll say it again, but poor Freddie SERIOUSLY needs a break from me.  
> I'm glad I finally fit this song in, it's one of the first I added to the Freddie and Roger playlist for this AU (and to Roger's solo playlist too)

**1974, America** **  
** **_“When I could only see the floor, you made my window a door, so when they say they don't believe, I hope that they see you and me. After all the lights go down, I'm just the words you are the sound. A strange type of chemistry, you've become a part of me. And when I sit alone at night, your thoughts burn through me like a fire; you're the only one who knows, who I really am.” -Be Somebody,_ ** **Thousand Foot Krutch**

It was just a basic fact that Omegas tended to need physical contact during heat; the majority got clingier and cuddlier during heat, just as most Alphas tended to suddenly gain a raging temper.

But every once in a while, Freddie would want to be left alone during heat.

Such as right now.

Usually Freddie loved cuddles whether he was in heat or not, but he’d developed such a terrible migraine that he’d retreated to his bunk, with a rather stern warning to the band to _please_ just leave him alone.

Roger hated it. The scent of Freddie’s heat filled the tour bus and Freddie was in _pain,_ the painkillers had done fuck all to help. He felt useless. When he’d last checked on Freddie he’d been asleep, but his face was still creased in pain and his temperature was rising.

They were in the middle of a long, barren stretch of road, so it wasn’t like they could just pull over and find a pharmacy. Fucking _brilliant._

The primal side of Roger’s brain was growling and whining by turns; pissed he couldn’t protect Freddie and worried that Freddie would only get worse. He kept glancing down to the bunks, biting his lip. He wanted to go check on Freddie again, but he knew Freddie wanted to be alone- if he was awake he’d just tell Roger to bugger off again. If he was still asleep there was nothing Roger could do. He knew he was driving everyone nuts with his worry-wart attitude, but he couldn’t exactly _help_ it.

Besides, it wasn’t like Brian and Deacy could judge; Brian was jostling his leg as he and Deacy played Scrabble, craning his neck to stare at the bunks worriedly; and Deacy was biting his lip and cracking his knuckles. 

Roger kept straining his ears for the slightest sound from Freddie’s bunk; the Omega had drawn the curtain over the bunk, so it wasn’t like Roger could even see him and assure himself Freddie was okay.

“You look tragic,” came a sudden comment. Roger snapped out of his reverie to find one of the roadies smiling sympathetically. Shit, what was his name again? Dean? No, Dennis, that was it! He was a tall man, an Alpha with bushy brown hair. He jerked his head towards the bunks. “You been together long?” he asked.

“Since ‘73,” Roger lied.

“Sucks sometimes, huh? When they’re in pain and don’t let you help?” Dennis asked. He held his wallet out; inside was a picture of a chubby, red-haired woman holding and equally chubby red-haired toddler. She was smiling broadly, an obvious bondmark on her neck.

“My Mitzy,” Dennis said proudly. “And our Jared.”

“They’re lovely,” Roger said with a smile- and he meant it. Despite himself, he started to relax.

“Poor Mitzy’s heats have her flat on her back,” Dennis said, shaking his head. “No matter what we do the migraines leave her immobile, and sometimes her stomach acts up to boot. Yet every single time she insists she can handle it by herself. Fiercely independent that one, she hates accepting help for anything.”

“Yeah, Fred’s about the same,” Roger said with a rueful shrug. It was funny; he’d promised to protect Freddie no matter what, but Freddie was so fiercely independent. He felt he had a point to prove, that Omegas could look after themselves. He hated accepting help...But he’d never really complained about Roger’s promise. He insisted Roger didn’t _have_ to look after him, but when Roger insisted he just _wanted_ to, he usually dropped the subject.

“The painkillers didn’t help, huh?” Dennis asked. Roger shook his head, glancing back to the bunks yet again. 

“Poor guy,” Dennis said, tutting in sympathy. “Tell you what- we’re not far off the next town. I can ask the driver to take us straight to the pharmacy before the hotel?” He glanced at Brian and Deacy’s wan, worried faces and raised an eyebrow. “It looks like you’re _all_ driving yourselves to distraction.”

“Thanks,” Roger said gratefully. “That’d be great.” For a moment he hesitated, but then he asked, “So...There’s really nothing that helps Mitzy?”

“Nothing,” Dennis said ruefully. For a moment he looked genuinely sad. “Her own sister suggested she remove her womb- end the heats, end the periods for good. Mitzy wouldn’t hear of it. Like I said: stubborn as a mule. Anything help your Freddie?”

“Not much,” Roger admitted. “Some months are easy, you know? Like, he won’t even get a headache, he’ll just be thirsty and drowsy. But then...Well, sometimes it totally fucks him over.”

“I’ll never understand how the movies make heats look sexy,” Dennis said, hauling himself to his feet. “It’s obvious those directors have never been with an Omega in heat.”

“Probably just pissed they’re getting rejected,” Roger laughed. Dennis grinned at him before heading back to the other roadies.

For a moment, Roger felt better. It was nice to talk to someone that _got_ it, even if Dennis didn’t know the truth. Because Roger _did_ worry, he didn’t have to be Freddie’s boyfriend for that.

But then the road got bumpy; there were potholes galore and the bus juddered as they drove along. There was such a bad bump that Roger nearly fell out of his seat, and Brian and Deacy scrambled to save the Scrabble tiles.

Then Roger heard a sad little whimper and _nope,_ that did it.

It was only a few quick strides (stumbles) to Freddie’s bunk and he pulled back the curtain as gently as he could, not wanting to let too much light in at once.

  
“Fred?” he was careful to keep his voice down. “You okay?” He reached out to push Freddie’s hair off his face; his temperature had gone up again; he looked flushed and miserable, hair sweaty and tangled. 

“Rog?” Freddie’s voice broke, he kept his eyes firmly closed.

“It’s me,” Roger said. Biting his lip, careful not to move Freddie more than necessary, he climbed into the bunk, shutting the curtain behind him. Freddie looked a mess, but more importantly he looked in pain, and that just wouldn’t do. Gently, cautiously, he pulled Freddie flush against him, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

“It’s okay,” he soothed as the bus hit another pothole, juddering again. Freddie’s small hands clung to Roger’s shirt, clinging so tightly he thought he heard something tear. His breathing was ragged, and his choked sob felt like a slap in the face. “You’re okay, shh, it’s okay. I’m here, you’re alright.”

For fuck’s sake, this could _not_ be normal. This was the worst Roger had ever seen him. Usually when Freddie’s headaches developed into migraines he closed the curtains, turned off the lights and curled up in bed for a few hours, sleeping the worst of it off. This was worse. This made Roger want to yell at the driver to _hurry up._ Fuck a pharmacy, they needed a _doctor._

Freddie curled up impossibly small, pressing his face against Roger’s shoulder, and Roger just did his best to keep him calm, mindlessly repeating “It’s okay, I’m right here,” without knowing if it even helped. 

Unbidden, his mind flashed back to his thirteen-year-old self and he could have laughed, though there was nothing funny about the situation. Because once, Roger _did_ think heats were sexy, that they were basically a sex marathon that lasted for days on end. At thirteen he’d believed the movies and books he sneaked past his mother; he and his friends had speculated about it, but didn’t have the nerve to approach any of their Omega classmates and ask for clarification. They’d just...Believed what they were told. Alphas weren’t taught about heat in sex-ed, they were all sent to different classrooms for that, and looking back that was such a mistake. Because Roger didn’t _know,_ not until he was eighteen, and his Omega girlfriend at the time simply wasn’t affected by her heats; she’d been a little groggy, a little sore, but otherwise carried on as usual. Some Omega classmates in secondary school and college missed class because they were too ill to make it (and God, the jokes they’d made in secondary school whenever an Omega classmate was missing), some were barely affected and it all manifested differently. They weren’t suddenly sex-machines and constantly horny like he’d been led to believe, they were just...Just _people._

And _this?_ His best friend nearly passing out from pain, ill and crying in his arms? It was one of the worst feelings in the world.

Suddenly more upset than he’d expected to be, he pulled the curtain open and poked his head out. “Brimi? Brimi, Fred needs a doctor.”

  
  
  


Dehydrated, migraine, a soaring temperature and muscle cramps was the diagnosis. Roger had carried Freddie into the hospital himself. At first the receptionist had said, “He’s in _heat,_ what do you expect us to do?” But as soon as Brian and Roger started growling, as soon as Deacy snarled, she became a lot more co-operative. 

“He doesn’t need to stay overnight,” the doctor said cheerfully. “He’ll need plenty of fluids; we’ve got his temperature down to normal, so I’d recommend a hot-pack for his muscles, and I’ll go write out a prescription for the migraine. Fingers crossed he’ll be good as new tomorrow.” He paused, seemingly running through a mental checklist. “Oh, and don’t let him eat anything too heavy just yet, Mr Taylor.”

“Right,” Roger said, nodding tersely. “So, can I see him or what?”

“Of course,” the doctor said, still smiling. He really was amazingly perky. “One at a time though, don’t want to overwhelm the poor thing.” He smiled at Roger. “I know better than to keep a fellow Alpha away from his Omega, go on ahead.”

He walked away with a little spring in his step. Roger _wished_ he could be that cheerful. The guy made Freddie look mopey. 

Speaking of…

Freddie was sipping at some water when Roger barged in.

“That has to be the most cheerful doctor I’ve ever had, but my God he was speaking to me like I’m a child,” Freddie said, voice still weak. He still looked a little bleary, he was squinting despite the fact the lights were turned down, but at least he was _aware_ now. 

“How’re you feeling?” Roger asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. He wrapped an arm around Freddie, pulling him closer. 

“Well I don’t feel like dying anymore,” Freddie said. “So that’s a plus.” He sipped at the water again. “This is embarrassing.”

“Hardly,” Roger said briskly. He kissed the top of Freddie’s head, admittedly feeling better himself when Freddie smiled. “How the hell did you handle this when you lived alone?”

“Well, I’ve never landed myself in the hospital before,” Freddie said with a small shrug. He set the water aside and closed his eyes. “Really, Rog, it’s never been _this_ bad. I’m as surprised as you are.”

“I’m not _surprised,_ I was _worried._ ” He sighed. “I hate not being able to help.”

“Oh hush, you help plenty.”

He’d like to believe that. After years of feeling lost, of feeling like he wasn’t quite _good_ enough; after years of being terrified of turning out like his father, of becoming a stereotypical possessive, abusive Alpha...He’d like to believe he was doing something _right._ Next to music, next to drumming, promising to protect Freddie felt like the first good thing he’d done. For once he wasn’t driving his mother to tears of worry, or smashing things in a temper, only to end up scared of _himself-_ for once he was _helping._

Because Freddie trusted him. Freddie believed in him. And Roger loved him to bits.

Freddie, eyes still closed, asked “Can we go yet?”

“When Cheerful-McGee comes back with your prescription, yeah,” Roger said with a smile.

“He truly is perky, isn’t he, darling?”

“Like a goddamn cartoon.”

Freddie laughed and immediately winced, clutching his head. “Don’t make me laugh, you prick!”

“So we have to cancel the tickle tournament? Deacs will be crushed.”

Freddie bit his lip, snickering and opened his eyes a crack. “Oh God, can you _imagine_ trying to tickle him?”

“I think he’d kill us,” Roger said seriously.

“I _know_ he’d kill us.”

Biting back a grin, Roger kissed the top of Freddie’s head again.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

Freddie squeezed his hand, curling up closer.

“Thanks for staying with me, darling.”

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these dorks, even though I constantly hurt them. And look at that, some Roger backstory!  
> As always if anyone has any requests, do tell ❤


	3. Freddie: Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul really does get jealous over the smallest things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> astheykissconsume requested "Freddie wearing Roger's clothes (and Paul nearly dying of jealousy)" and here we go. Hope you enjoy!

**May, Osaka Japan, 1975** **  
** **_“So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your Rover, that I know you can't afford. Bite that tattoo on your shoulder, pull the sheets right off the corner of that mattress that you stole from your roommate back in Boulder. We ain't ever getting older.” -Closer,_ ** **The Chainsmokers ft. Halsey**

When Freddie woke up he was still exhausted. He was alone in the bed, and he felt drained and hung-over. They’d had a sold-out concert last night and there was another one tonight. Before last night’s concert they’d been taken on a tour of the city and it was  _ beautiful,  _ but perhaps not the best idea before a show. And then there’d been the afterparty, and that was where things started to get fuzzy. Frankly, he couldn’t remember what time they’d all stumbled back to the hotel at. It was by far the fanciest hotel they’d ever had; they didn’t just have rooms, they had entire  _ suites.  _ Roger and Freddie were in one room, Brian and Deacy in the other, and poor Crystal had the misfortune of bunking with Paul. Their entourage took up most of the tenth floor, and the view was to die for.

You know, if he could be bothered to get up and take another look at the view.

His neck was still bloody  _ sore;  _ Roger had touched up the mark last night (it had nearly faded into non-existence), and in his drunken state he hadn’t exactly been gentle about it, and Freddie was too drunk to argue. One disgruntled glance in the mirror told him this mark would  _ not  _ be fading anytime soon.

One equally disgruntled glance at the clock told him it was nearly ten in the morning and sure enough…

“Freddie? You awake?”

Yep, there was Brian knocking on the door.

“I’m up,” Freddie called, trying to force at least  _ some  _ cheer into his voice.

“Well, we’ve gotten room service if you’re hungry, okay?”

“Thanks darling.” Freddie closed his eyes again, trying to will his head to stop thumping. On one hand, food sounded great. It was a good idea. On the other hand, his hangover screamed it was a very  _ bad  _ idea.

But whatever they’d ordered smelled great.

Oh screw it, they’d seen him more hungover than this and Roger was likely  _ worse  _ with all the shots he’d had, they couldn’t judge.

Groggily, he grabbed the first shirt his hand touched, which happened to be Roger’s. It was a stupidly bright pink shirt with sparkly gold stars around the hem and across the chest. It was fucking  _ hideous,  _ and he was still pretty sure Roger had bought it as a joke, but it was comfy and he simply wasn’t arsed looking for his own clothes right now.

The shirt was too big on Roger so it was simply huge on Freddie; it hung off one shoulder and hung down to his thighs. Whatever. He just wanted some coffee at this point.

As he stumbled into the living area, Crystal wolf-whistled. For a man with red-rimmed eyes and tousled hair, whose breath still  _ reeked  _ of booze, he was infuriatingly perky.

Eyes half-closed, Freddie flipped him off and flopped down next to Roger.

“Good night?” Crystal asked cheerfully.

Freddie expected Roger to make some sort of perverted joke, or laugh at Crystal or even cheerfully tell him to fuck off. Maybe if he was too hung over he’d just growl or grunt. Instead, Roger wrapped an arm around Freddie’s waist; a certain cockiness  _ oozed  _ off him. When he blearily looked around he realised that, despite their own hangovers, Brian and Deacy looked terribly amused.

Then he realised who was sitting right across from him.

Paul. Of course.

He looked like he’d been sucking on lemons; lips pursed, eyes popping, fists clenched. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Interesting shirt,” he said, voice falsely light.

“Yeah, it’s Roger’s,” Freddie said, too tired to  _ get  _ it for a moment. Then his brain started working  _ properly. _

Crystal and Paul thought he and Roger had sex last night. Brian and Deacy knew damn well they hadn’t. But Freddie smelled like Roger, his hair was a tangled mess, the mark was dark enough to last at  _ least  _ three weeks and he was  _ only  _ wearing Roger’s shirt and a pair of boxers. Combined with how he’d stumbled into the room...Yeah, he could understand why they’d think that.

Roger was smirking straight at Paul.

Now that Freddie’s brain had gotten with the programme he had to admit he was feeling pretty amused himself. He felt bad about lying to Crystal, but the look on Paul’s face was so entirely worth it.

_ Try sell me out to Foster now,  _ he thought, holding back a smile. God, if Foster could see them now he’d laugh in Paul’s face.

“Did you sleep at all?” Deacy asked with a smirk; his eyes darted to Paul as he refilled his glass of orange juice.

“Not enough,” Freddie muttered, reaching for the bacon. May as well eat while his stomach was behaving.

Crystal winked at him. Paul choked.

“Alright, Prenter?” Roger asked with a lazy grin. His grip on Freddie’s waist tightened.

“Just peachy,” Paul said through gritted teeth. He was starting to look a little red. The shirt slipped off Freddie’s shoulder again and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away as he adjusted it.

Should he feel bad for feeling so amused at Paul’s expense? Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not. They’d started this whole ruse  _ because  _ of Paul. He’d never considered Freddie’s feelings or comfort, why should Freddie consider his? He  _ still  _ didn’t feel safe with Paul around.

Roger tapped him on the hip, three times in quick succession. One of their signals. He could ignore it, or go along with it.

Freddie looked up- and Roger kissed him. Brian disguised a laugh as a cough and Paul growled quietly. It wasn’t a very long kiss and Roger was smirking when he pulled back. He tapped his finger on Freddie’s lips, smirk growing. Unable to keep from smiling, Freddie rested his head on Roger’s shoulder.

“I have to go,” Paul abruptly announced. He slammed the door behind him, and Freddie distantly heard Ratty complain about the noise across the hall.

“He’s not very subtle, is he?” Crystal asked, jerking his head at the door.

“Never has been,” Roger said smoothly. “You’d think he’d take a hint.”

“You’d think he’d take a blatant  _ I’m not interested, thank you, _ ” Freddie grumbled.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be gone for a while,” Deacy said with a smile. “So we’ve some peace. Any plans before tonight?”

“Yes,” Freddie said, stabbing at more bacon. “Get more sleep.”

“If Rog lets you,” Crystal teased. “Fuck’s sake, Roger, were you trying to  _ eat  _ his neck?”

“Fuck off, Chris,” came the expected, cheerful response.

The sleeve slipped again and Freddie adjusted it with a sigh.

“Roggie, why did you buy this ugly thing?” he asked. He made a mental note to go through Roger’s clothes and burn all the ugly things. Maybe it was Roger’s terrible eye-sight weighing him down. Maybe he simply didn’t realise how much of an eye-sore half his wardrobe was (if he wore those lime green trousers again Freddie would  _ punch  _ him). 

Maybe it was wishful thinking on Freddie’s part.

“Partly to piss you off when you saw it,” Roger admitted with a shrug. He poured more coffee.

“Knew it,” Brian said.

“I’m dumping you,” Freddie said, pushing away from him.

“You love me.”

_ “Dumping you.” _

(Though if wearing Roger's clothes made Paul leave him in peace he might have to do it more often...After he burned all the ugly ones.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next is a little scene that was originally going to be in the finale, but it fits better here (and now I don't have to delete it!): get ready for Roger and Freddie to try and explain all this to Jer and Bomi...


	4. Freddie: Playing God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jer and Bomi are not happy to hear about Roger; there's a lot of explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because Jer and Bomi are relieved to find Freddie again doesn't mean things are perfect; there's a LOT of issues and hurt feelings to work through. There's an entire childhood of bullshit to sort out.  
> (Fun fact: the first half of this chapter takes place on the same day as Roger's "Bad Blood" chapter in "My Lonely Days Are Through.")
> 
> Shoutout to ScholarlyBAMF, whose request was "meeting the parents while explaining the ruse." (We'll get to Winifred eventually!)  
> This was originally going to be in the finale, but the damn thing keeps getting longer and longer, but it fits better in this story and now I don't have to cut it out of the series! 💖

**1974** **  
** **_“You don't have to believe me, but the way I, way I see it, next time you point a finger I might have to bend it back, or break it, break it off. Next time you point a finger, I'll point you to the mirror.” -Playing God,_ ** **Paramore**

Things weren't all great. If Freddie had expected a fairytale ending he'd have been disappointed. (Good thing his expectations with his parents were low, the cynical part of him figured.) He’d been so incredibly relieved to know his family was alive, but things with his parents were still...awkward, for lack of a better word. They still seemed to think he was fragile, that he simply wasn’t as clever as the rest of them.

Part of Freddie wanted to threaten to walk right back out the door and never come back. Another part of him shrank back from that possibility.

Things weren’t _as_ bad as they’d been before, but his parents were still maddening. There’d been more than one fight about him running away, the shame he’d brought on the family, how he’d made his mother cry for weeks. But Freddie wasn’t that frightened child anymore.

It was yet another argument over lunch; Jer and Bomi wanted him to move back home with them. They still didn’t approve of him living with Brian, Roger and Deacy. They still hated the idea that he was dating some “ruffian” as Jer put it.

And Freddie refused.

“No,” he said simply. “I’m sorry, Mama, Papa, but no. They’re my friends.” He frowned, folding his arms. “They’re my pack,” he said honestly, ignoring how they both gaped at him. “I- I’m not moving out.”

“Darling, you need looking after,” Jer said, taking his hand. “You-”

“I can look after myself,” Freddie said flatly.

“And you shouldn’t be living with _two_ Alphas,” Jer continued with a pleading smile. “Sweetheart, you need to consider your reputation, your honour. I understand you care for that drummer, but Alphas like that...They don’t settle down, they don’t bond; you _know_ what they want.”

_Oh, for God’s sake,_ he thought furiously. He pulled back, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt when Jer flinched.

“He loves me,” Freddie said- and Roger _did,_ just not in the way Jer and Bomi thought he meant.

“So he says,” Bomi said. “But your mama is right, Farrokh.”

“It’s Freddie,” he said quietly, angrily.

“The fact that he thinks it’s okay to- to _touch_ you before marriage is unseemly,” Bomi said firmly. “It shows a lack of regard for you. If he really loved you he’d wait, don’t you understand, son? You shouldn’t be living away from your family until you’re married, you _know_ that. You need looking after and those friends of yours are clearly _not_ looking after you. We just want what’s best for you.”

One thing England and Zanzibar had in common was this: Omegas simply didn't live alone. It was a rare thing. Even most widows moved in with their children. So he supposed he saw where they were coming from. A part of Freddie argued that they meant well. The part of him that was (horribly) _used_ to this, argued that they simply wanted to protect him. The part of him that had it drilled into him that he was dumb and delicate again and again, argued that they didn’t really _mean_ to upset him.

A much larger part of him said _fuck that._ He was an adult, he’d looked after himself from the moment he arrived in England and he’d done just fine on his own. His friends _did_ protect him, they just didn’t _smother_ him. They didn’t act like he was stupid, they thought he was _clever._ They didn’t treat him like he was fragile: they looked after him, but they respected him. They outright called him brave.

They respected him. It hit him like a slap in the face that his parents _didn’t._

“No,” he said again- and the argument erupted from there. It spiraled into the usual shouting match about the family’s honour, Freddie’s honour, his lack of regard for his parents and lack of respect; how undisciplined he was, how he never did his duty, how he clearly had no care for his family’s feelings. As per usual, they quickly arrived on the topic of Freddie running away in the middle of the night.

When Bomi exploded, “Where was your regard for us?” Freddie yelled back, “Where was _your_ regard for _me?_ ”

Bomi blinked rapidly, looking at him like a lamb had just roared. Freddie stood as tall as he could (he was still much shorter than his father), fists clenched.

“You tried to sell me to a stranger to _keep me in line,_ ” Freddie hissed.

“I was trying to protect you!” Bomi protested, and Freddie laughed coldly, he couldn’t help it. 

“You call that _protecting_ me? No, you were protecting your own interests. Can’t have the stupid little Omega making a mockery of the family name! You were happy to sell me off to a stranger and I was a _child._ Dazmen was twenty-three, I was only seventeen for God’s sake! He talked to me like I was stupid, he treated me like a doll; I _told_ you I didn’t want to marry him, I told you I hated him, I told you I was angry and frightened and you told me to _do my duty._ ” He was struggling to keep his breathing even, to keep his voice down, but it did no good. He was yelling louder than he ever had before, let alone at Bomi; his breathing came out in gasps and sobs. He wanted to seem cold and detached, but he couldn’t. “It wasn’t my _duty_ to let some stranger fuck me! It wasn’t my goddamn _duty_ to be shipped off to India _again,_ to have a _stranger’s_ children, to have all my rights stripped away. That would have been _it_ for me! I wouldn’t have been allowed to do _anything,_ don’t you _understand_ that!?” Finally, he said what he’d been thinking all along; “I’d have ended up dead one way or another, I promise you that!”

Jer was crying, Kash was gaping and Bomi...He looked stunned, shaking his head a little, like he couldn’t quite believe his shy, quiet son would yell like this. It felt like another reminder that Bomi didn’t _know_ him. Freddie had always been shy, but he’d never had a problem with raising his voice when he needed to.

The silence stretched on. He waited for Bomi, or even Jer, to say something. To argue, to apologise, _something._

No one said anything.

So Freddie sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going home,” he said tiredly. He turned to go, but Jer quickly said, “No, baby, wait!” and grabbed his wrist.

“Wait,” she said again. “Let’s- let’s talk about this, hm?”

“You mean _you_ talk and _I_ listen,” Freddie scoffed, because wasn't that how it always went? His parents would say "let's talk" and then tell him to _"Hush, child!"_ and listen. To do what he was told.

“No, no, we’ll listen, I promise.” Her grip tightened, her lip trembled. “Please, Far- Freddie.”

When Freddie looked back, Kash was staring Bomi down, hands on her hips. Bomi, for the first time in Freddie’s memory, looked nervous.

“We’ll listen,” Bomi said eventually.

  
  
  
  
  


It was a stilted, awkward conversation and Freddie still got the impression that they simply didn’t understand, that they still saw him as a child...But they _did_ let him speak. They didn’t talk over him, or answer condescendingly. He spoke, they listened.

“About Roger,” Bomi ventured and Freddie stiffened, ready for another fight- but his father inclined his head and said, “We’d like to meet him.”

Right. He hadn’t actually explained it was all a ruse to keep Paul (and anyone like him) away. It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt it out there and then- but if he was honest, he could really do with back-up.

So he nodded. “I’ll tell him,” he promised.

  
  
  


And now here they were on a Saturday morning, crowded together in his parents’ living room. Bomi looked at Roger like he was a cockroach; he took in everything from Roger’s long hair, to his bright pink converse and sunglasses and his frown only grew.

Kashmira seemed to find the whole thing amusing; she asked a million and one questions- how did they meet, when did Roger learn the drums, did he have any siblings, was he in college or had he graduated? At least his parents seemed happier when Roger said he’d switched from dentistry to biology and had graduated.

“Er…We have something to tell you,” Freddie started. “It’s about…” He gestured awkwardly between himself and Roger. “Well, it’s about us.”

“Oh!” Jer’s eyes widened. “Are you engaged?”

_“No!”_ came the immediate, joint response from them both, followed by Freddie’s “God no!” and Roger’s “Hell no!” While they looked at each other and started laughing, Bomi’s eyes narrowed.

“What, is my son not good enough?” he demanded. “You think you can have your way with him and not commit to him? I’ll have you know-”

“Papa!” Freddie cut in. “God, would you _listen?_ We- we’re not dating, okay? It’s just an act.”

Jer let out a confused little “Huh?” Bomi deflated, looking more and more bewildered and annoyed. Kasmira sat back, smiling.

“Oh?” his sister said. “Do tell, Freddie.”

“Yes,” Jer said, eyes swivelling between himself and Roger. “Do tell.”

“Our assistant is a massive pervert,” Roger said bluntly, ignoring Freddie’s hissed, _“Rog!”_ Roger shrugged, folding his arms. He looked totally at ease, but Freddie could see the anxiety swimming in his eyes. “Paul Prenter. He’s got a thing for Freddie, won’t take no for an answer. Right from the moment we met the guy, he’s been pretty damn obvious about what he wants. So we’re pretending to date to make him back off. It keeps Prenter away and it keeps _most_ creeps away. It keeps him safe from our executives and from being marketed as some sex toy. Legally, EMI's executives could assign an Alpha to _look after him._ They'd be allowed take Fred's share of royalties, they'd be allowed tell him what to do...In work or outside it. Legally, if they knew he was single, they could do whatever they want to him. So until we can find a better record company, this is what we're doing.” His eyes blazed as he looked from Jer to Bomi. "I'd do anything to keep your son safe," he said. "I promise."

“Told you he’s looking after me,” Freddie said. “You don’t- neither of you know what it’s like. Almost everyone I’ve ever met, _including you two,_ act like I’m a doll. Your solution was to marry me off and hide me away. Everyone else’s solution is to fuck me or beat me into submission. Look, I _promise_ I’m safe, okay? Paul’s not dumb enough to fight Roger; people see this mark or smell our scents and leave me alone. I’m _alright._ ”

There was another uncomfortable pause, before Bomi slowly nodded his head.

“I...I understand,” he said, eyeing Roger dubiously. “It has its merits.” He nodded a little stiffly. “Thank you for looking after my child.”

“Of course,” Roger said.

Bomi nodded again. His lips were pressed together. Almost cautiously, he looked at Freddie. “So you two haven’t...Um…” To Freddie’s immense shock his father was _blushing._ He’d never seen Bomi embarrassed before. “You haven’t...Been intimate?”

Freddie hoped and prayed he wasn’t blushing himself. Kashmira choked, Roger _was_ blushing and Jer just looked earnest and concerned. 

“No, Papa,” Freddie choked.

Bomi nodded, clearly relieved. “Well then,” he said, a little stiffly. “Good. That’s...Good.” 

Jer _beamed._ “Ah, still waiting until marriage?” she asked brightly; now Roger choked. The son of a bitch was clearly trying not to laugh. By some miracle, Freddie managed to look his mother in the eye and smile.

“Of course, Mama.”

She patted his hand, still smiling. “That’s my good boy.”

_She must never know,_ Freddie thought, while Roger shoved another biscuit in his mouth in an attempt to hide his smirk.

  
  
  
  
  


The second they got into the van, Roger let rip and _whooped_ with laughed, head thrown back.

“They really think you’re a virgin!” he cackled. “Oh my _God,_ Fred! Are they _serious?_ ”

“Unfortunately,” Freddie said. Despite his best efforts he couldn’t hold his own giggles back forever; within seconds he was laughing as hard as Roger. He didn’t even find it _that_ funny; it was also embarrassing and irritating, but...God, they were so _oblivious_ sometimes. 

He loved them, he really did, but they drove him absolutely _insane._ They’d made improvements but they had a long way to go- and at this point in their lives, Freddie was pretty sure his parents weren’t going to change much more. Which was...a bit depressing actually. Were they seriously going to treat him like a delicate little doll forever? Would they ever respect him?

As Roger finally started to drive away, Freddie glanced back at the house, biting his lip. Well, even if his parents didn’t respect him, at least Kashmira did. Brian did. Deacy did. Mary did. A lot of people were starting to.

Roger did too, probably the most out of them all.

“Sorry about them,” Freddie said quietly. “Believe it or not they’ve actually gotten better.”

“ _You_ deserve better,” Roger said, eyes on the road and squinting. Freddie really wished he’d just wear his damn glasses, it made him nervous when Roger drove without them. 

“Rog, darling?”

“Yeah, Fred?”

“Thank you...” _Thank you for treating me like an equal, thank you for looking after me without treating me like I’m stupid, thank you for being my friend, thank you for refusing to talk to the press unless they treat me fairly, thank you for loving me the way I am._ He couldn’t seem to get the words out. “You know, for- for coming with me today. And for scaring Paul off.”

Roger squeezed his hand, still squinting at the road.

“You don’t need to thank me, you know that,” he said with a faint smile. 

_But I do,_ he thought. _I should._

Instead he said, “For God’s sake, darling, put your glasses on before you get us killed!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This family has a LOT of issues to fix. Thank God Freddie has his pack.


	5. Roger: Dancing With Our Hands Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie knew perfectly well Roger was off with a girl; hell, he'd told Roger to go for it. But Roger's left feeling guilty, and not a little paranoid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the doctors finally figured out what's wrong: my nanny has a form of dementia. I'm...Honestly not sure how to take it. I don't think it's fully sunk in yet.

**February 1974, England**

**_“People started talking, putting us through our paces, I knew there was no one in the world who could take it. I had a bad feeling. But we were dancing. Dancing with our hands tied, hands tied. Yeah, we were dancing like it was the first time, first time. Yeah, we were dancing. Dancing with our hands tied, hands tied. Yeah, we were dancing and I had a bad feeling, but we were dancing.” -Dancing With Our Hands Tied,_ ** **Taylor Swift**

Double standards drove Roger insane. It was considered the norm for Alphas to cheat on their partners, Betas was surprising and Omegas got slut-shamed into the ground. He didn’t get it; they were accused of being sluts every single day, regardless if they lived up to it or not, but if they  _ did  _ cheat they were harassed constantly.

It was considered an Omegas job to keep their Alpha happy- if the Alpha cheated, it was  _ clearly  _ the Omega’s fault. Obviously.

That was one thing about this fake relationship: neither of them could actually go on dates with anyone else. They were becoming recognisable, in England and abroad; they couldn’t just go home with someone from the club anymore. The press were watching. One wrong move and they’d been crucified.

It was yet another reason Freddie had kept asking Roger if he was sure about this, but Roger maintained he could handle it. What was sex compared to his best friend’s safety?

He’d be lying if he said the group of girls eyeing him up weren’t tempting though.

The girl with the wavy brown hair and the pretty yellow dress kept catching his eye and grinning. They’d had a sold out show, and the after-party was in full swing. Deacy had dragged Freddie onto the dance floor and Roger had lost sight of Brian ten minutes ago. Prenter had left with some black-haired guy (poor bastard) and Crystal, Roy and Ratty were doing shots.

And Roger was  _ dying. _

No. He had to get a grip. He couldn’t risk it. Even if he took that girl off somewhere else and no one recognised him, everyone would be able to  _ smell  _ it if he wasn’t careful. People talked. It took just one pair of loose lips for the tabloids to blow everything out of proportion, and then they’d be well and truly fucked.

He couldn’t. He  _ wouldn’t. _

But the next thing he knew the girl appeared at his side with a bright smile, tilting her head. An Omega with no mark on her neck, or anyone else's scent on her; this close Roger could see the freckles on her nose. 

“Hey,” she said. “You look awfully bored, you know that?”

“Nah, just tired,” Roger said, trying very hard to just- to not look at her for too long. His eyes sought out Deacy and Freddie on the dance floor; Deacy spun Freddie around, both of them laughing. Despite himself, Roger grinned.

The girl lightly nudged him; she was biting her lip. He knew that look. Nervous, a little excited, determined.

“Well, hopefully you’re not too tired,” she said. “I’m Bianca by the way. Listen- my friends and I...We’re heading down to Miami down the road. A few of the other guys are coming. They’ve got better drinks than here.”

For a second he thought she was talking about their lawyer, then he remembered there was a  _ club  _ called Miami nearby. The entrance fee was a bit ridiculous, but it  _ was  _ popular for its music and cocktails. 

And it was popular for its cheap back rooms.

It was tempting.  _ God,  _ it was so tempting, but what kind of friend would he be if he risked it? He loved sex; sex was important to him and he hadn’t had any since this fake relationship started...But Freddie was  _ more  _ important.

“Thanks,” Roger said. “But I think I’m going to call it a night.”

Bianca’s smile fell, but she nodded.

“Well, if you change your mind…” she trailed off, smiled, and walked back to her friends.

Sighing, Roger glanced back to the dance floor; Freddie was gone, and Deacy had joined Roy, Ratty and Crystal. Brian was back, and dancing with a rather spectacular looking blonde.

Bianca caught his gaze again and winked.

Roger fled.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He took the lift to their floor, passing Prenter’s “friend” on the way to his room. The guy looked spectacularly pissed about something. When he saw Roger he opened his mouth, but shook his head and rushed away, fists clenched.

Roger let himself into his and Freddie’s room (right next to Prenter’s, ugh); Freddie was already sprawled like a starfish on the bed. His make-up had been wiped off, he’d clearly had another shower as his hair was still damp at the ends; he was wearing a shirt he’d “borrowed” from Roger and a pair of pyjama pants, the heat turned up full blast.

He opened his eyes as the door creaked. “Hey, darling,” he said. He looked- he looked a little  _ wary.  _ It made Roger nervous, but he knew Freddie; if he immediately started to interrogate him, Freddie would clam up and change the subject or lose his temper if Roger really pushed it.

It was one of the reasons Brian compared Freddie to a cat; if he was upset you generally had to wait for him to come to you.

“You gonna make room for me?” Roger asked, standing at the end of the bed.

“Hm, no, don’t think so,” Freddie said with a smirk.

With a smirk of his own, Roger grabbed Freddie’s ankle and  _ yanked.  _ Freddie shrieked, immediately starting to laugh as he was tugged towards Roger, legs dangling off the bed. His free leg wrapped around Roger’s hip, and Roger leaned over him, grinning.

“Aren’t Omegas meant to do what they’re told?”

“Oh,  _ fuck off, _ ” Freddie said, squirming out of Roger’s grip. He pushed backwards until he was lying on his own side of the bed, lying on his side. Roger flopped down on his back next to him. He could hear the TV in Prenter’s room next door.

“These walls are pretty thin, right?” Roger asked; he was sure his grin looked downright unholy.

Freddie raised an eyebrow, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I’m not making sex noises to piss him off, dear,” he said flatly.

“Oh come on, Fred, it’d be  _ so _ funny.”

“No,” Freddie said firmly- but his eyes were sparkling. But slowly, they dimmed. “Rog?”

“Hm?”

“...You know if you wanted to go off with that girl I’d cover for you.”

Startled, Roger sat up straight. Freddie stayed propped up on his elbows; he was perfectly serious. He even looked a bit sad, to Roger’s eyes.

“No,” Roger said, shaking his head. “It’s too risky.”

“Not if you’re careful about it,” Freddie protested. “Roggie, I just- I mean- you haven’t gone off with anyone since-”

“Neither have you,” Roger cut him off.

In response, Freddie tapped the mark on his neck, pointedly raising an eyebrow. Ah. Right. Most Alphas would see that mark, smell those mixed scents, and back off. Most would be too nervous at the idea of getting in a fight with another Alpha. The ones that still tried it on with Freddie were the ones to be most wary of.

Roger didn’t have a mark like that. Freddie smelled more like him than Roger smelled like Freddie. Theoretically he could…

“No,” he repeated. He lay back down. 

Freddie pressed his lips together, looking away.

“I just...I feel like you’re giving everything up,” he said quietly, head still turned away. “We’re not  _ that  _ famous yet, Rog. It’s not like the press will blow up- even if they did, Foster and Sheffield wouldn’t be able to  _ do  _ anything, not unless we announced we broke up.”

“You’ve thought about this,” Roger realised.

Freddie shrugged. “Everyone saw you come up here,” he said. “If you’re quiet enough then Paul won’t hear you leave, and if you're careful enough no one will see you.” He raised an eyebrow. “If you shower  _ properly  _ it’ll wash any smells away.”

“Fucking hell, Fred,” Roger groaned, burying his face in his hands. Instantly, he had a lapful of Freddie; he pulled Roger’s hands away gently, linking their fingers. 

“Just go have fun, Rog,” Freddie said softly. “It’s  _ alright. _ ”

Roger unlinked their fingers; wordlessly, he tapped Freddie quickly on the hip-  _ one, two, three... _

Smiling, Freddie kissed him quickly, before leaning back to pout dramatically. “Though if you’re going to be sneaking around I’d suggest changing into something less noticeable, darling,” he said.

Returning the smile, Roger changed his party outfit for a pair of plain blue jeans, converse and a leather jacket.

“I maintain my right to chicken out and come back,” Roger said.

“And I maintain my right to nag you,” Freddie said cheerfully. He made shooing motions with his hands. “Now fuck off.”

As quietly as he could, Roger sneaked out. The TV was even louder in Prenter’s room, something with a lot of explosions was playing and the corridor was deserted. Swallowing his nerves, Roger kept his head down and made his way to the lift.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Was he awful for not chickening out? He sneaked back to the hotel at five in the morning. The hotel was mostly silent, save for a few groans from the crew’s rooms, or the sounds of TVs and radios playing, albeit lowly. Thankfully, there was no one around and he made it back to his and Freddie’s room in peace.

Freddie was fast asleep when Roger quietly shut the door, letting out those tiny kittenish noises, curled up in a ball, the covers pulled up to his nose.

Roger felt like an ass, though Freddie had all but shoved him out the door. Bianca was gorgeous and funny and clever...But the risk just wasn’t worth it. If Freddie brought it up again Roger would have to put his foot down; he couldn’t do this again. 

He was determined that their fame would only grow from here; they already had more and more people asking them for autographs as it was. They were even getting popular outside of England. It was worth the risk. It just simply wasn’t.

What had they always said in college? Ah, right;  _ bros before hoes.  _ It was the type of phrase Deacy rolled his eyes at, but the point stood.

He slipped into the shower, scrubbing hard until he couldn’t smell Bianca on him at all; he just smelled like himself and the (rather nasty) hotel soap and shampoo. Still damp, he pulled on his pyjama bottoms and slipped into bed, pulling Freddie closer. Staying shirtless was the best course of action; their scents would mix more on Roger’s skin that way.

“Hm? Rog?” Freddie’s eyes cracked open at the movement, but Roger only kissed the top of his head, one hand tangling in Freddie’s hair.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘Kay…” Freddie pressed into his hand, nose pressed against Roger’s collarbone, and just like that he drifted off again.

He really wasn’t looking forward to the conversation they had to have; they were both equally stubborn, but Roger was determined to make Freddie see reason. This  _ had  _ to be a one-off thing, he refused to risk anything else.

Slowly, still holding onto Freddie, Roger fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's been on my mind for a while; after all, in a world where people have heightened senses of smells, sneaking around and cheating must be harder.


	6. Roger: Killer Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger quickly decides that some interviewers are just idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, it's the interview Rami and Sami were watching...  
> Thanks to ScholarlyBAMF for the prompt: "interviews where Roger blows up at the inane sexist questions directed at Freddie." It isn't TOO detailed here, but it'll be a reoccurring theme.
> 
> Story time: my aunt's dog has not been away from his family in 5 years, he is VERY confused and anxious right now, so he's taken to following me from room to room and whimpering if he can't see me. As such, my dog seems to have taken that as a challenge, and she's even clingier too. On one hand, I'm living the dream. On the other hand, it's been hard to get any writing done 😂

**1974** **  
** **_“Perfume came naturally from Paris (naturally). For cars she couldn't care less. Fastidious and precise; she's a Killer Queen. Gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam. Guaranteed to blow your mind- anytime!” -Killer Queen,_ ** **Queen**

It was a shit interview. Roger quickly decided that Jeremy Granger was a prat. He introduced them to the audience as “Brian May on guitar, John Deacon on bass and Roger Taylor on drums with his boyfriend, Freddie Mercury!” When Roger, already annoyed, pointed out that Freddie was the lead singer of the band, Jeremy only laughed- and so did the audience.

And then the fucker had the nerve to deny that Freddie wrote _Killer Queen._

“So... _Killer Queen’s_ finally getting you the attention you deserve, hm boys? What exactly is the song about?” Jeremy asked. He was looking at Brian expectantly; the lanky Alpha folded his arms.

“You’ll have to ask Freddie,” he said. “Seeing as he’s the one who wrote it.”

Roger wanted to cheer Brian on. However, Jeremy instead gave that condescending chuckle again, and turned his attention to Deacy.

“I think we can all agree the snapping at the start is a nice touch, am I right? What made you think of that?”

Deacy raised an eyebrow. He looked so unimpressed it was almost painful. “Well, like Bri said, you’ll have to ask Freddie. It was his idea,” he said, with a lazy shrug. Sass positively radiated off him, and Roger couldn’t hold his grin back. Freddie had his head resting on Roger’s shoulder; one quick glance showed him that Freddie was smirking.

No one in the audience was laughing anymore. A lot of them weren’t even smiling. Jeremy finally seemed to have realised they weren’t going to take credit for Fred’s work; he finally seemed to have realised they were _equals._

Or maybe he thought it was some sort of stunt, because he gave a slightly desperate smile, and said, “Oh come now, boys, be reasonable. He can’t have-”

“I did,” Freddie cut in smoothly. He sat up straight. “Is that a problem darling?”

“Well, it’s just- you’re...well..”

“I’m what?”

“An Omega,” Jeremy said, as if that explained everything. “And...Well, forgive me, but Omegas don’t have the intelligence to-”

“I don’t have intelligence?” Freddie asked. “Goodness, someone better take back my art degree then!”

“...Degree?” Jeremy squeaked; he looked perfectly scandalised.

“Degree,” Freddie repeated with an icy smile. “Let me guess- that’s a problem too?”

“Er, no,” Jeremy said quickly. He glanced off to the side; Roger could just see the show’s producers standing by the wall. None of them looked happy. Well, fair’s fair, Roger wasn’t happy with this bullshit either. “No, not at all…” Jeremy chuckled again, his smile looked pained. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

The _Queen_ boys exchanced equally unimpressed glances. Deacy rolled his eyes, Brian gave Jeremy the look he usually reserved for a very drunk Roger- a look that said _Why do I put up with you?_

Freddie sat as straight as he could, staring Jeremy down; Roger kept an arm around him, unable to keep the amusement off his face. Christ, people were so easily offended (and maybe even intimidated) by Omegas breaking the status quo.

Intimidated...That was a new thought. Jeremy didn’t seem angry or offended; he seemed awkward, embarrassed, _nervous._

_Was_ he intimidated? Were the audience? The producers?

_Queen_ themselves broke the status quo. Brian, the quiet, shy Alpha. Deacy, the sassy and often bossy Beta. Roger seemed typical enough, but he refused to address Freddie condescendingly, he didn’t try take credit for Freddie’s work. And Freddie himself was a shock; flamboyant, creative, willing to speak his mind. The UK at large must have been having a field day.

He always knew people would either love them or hate them; they were shaking things up big time. 

Maybe the Alphas in charge _would_ be scared of that.

For the rest of the interview, Jeremy refrained from addressing Freddie if he could, and when he did address him, the questions were outright _stupid._ He spent nearly five minutes asking about Freddie’s hair and skin care routine (which basically boiled down to washing and conditioning it, and moisturising- and no, none of it was fancy, they were living on a _budget,_ thank you.)

Roger was seconds away from telling the guy to sit on a cactus, or ask him about his toupe care routine, because he refused to believe that was Jeremy’s real hair. No one’s hair was that perfectly uniform.

“Well, you’re all a bunch of good looking boys,” Jeremy said cheerfully. “Freddie, you’ve such a unique look.”

Freddie blinked in surprise. “Thank you,” he said, a little warily, like he was expecting a trap.

“You’ve a trim figure, how do you keep that up, hm?”

“...Pardon?”

“What’s your diet like?” Jeremy asked, slowly and overly-sweet. Freddie pressed his lips together, eyes flashing with annoyance. Roger satisfied himself by imagining kicking Jeremy off the stage and into the giggling audience.

“Average,” Freddie said, tone clipped. 

Jeremy nodded solemnly, as if Freddie had imparted great wisdom. “And- well, your teeth...Why don’t you do anything about them?”

Deacy inhaled sharply, Brian’s jaw was clenched and Roger just _barely_ bit back a snarl. He still glowered at Jeremy, who caught his eyes and winced.

For a second, Freddie looked embarrassed. But then he copied Jeremy’s sickly sweet smile and said, “I live in England, darling, I don’t want to stand out.”

There was a brief, shocked pause, before the audience burst out laughing. Freddie leaned back against Roger, beaming.

“If you’re done, I think we’re here to discuss an album, yeah?” Roger reminded Jeremy.

“Oh, it’s- it’s just some harmless questions,” Jeremy started, but Roger cut him off; “I’m _telling_ you to quit quizzing him on his diet, or his teeth, or his hair, or his skin, or his whatever-the-hell! We’re not here to talk about that, we’re here to talk about our _music._ The music he helped _write._ Don’t act like he’s an idiot, he’s one of the smartest people I know! He wrote _Killer Queen._ Deal with it.”

Their eyes locked, and Roger gave into the urge to snarl.

Finally, Jeremy nodded. “Of course,” he said, much more civilly. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Roger.”

Before Roger could explode, Brian cut in to discuss how long the album took to finish.

It didn’t stop Roger from simmering for the rest of the interview.

  
  
  
  
  


Afterwards he turned to Reid and said, “What the fuck was that?”

“An interview,” Reid said calmly. “I understand your frustrations, Roger, but they’re standard questions.”

“He acted like Fred’s an idiot! He was worried about offending _me,_ not Freddie!”

“Well…” Reid grimaced, shrugging uncomfortably. “You know how it is.”

He did. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

Roger stomped back to Freddie, automatically wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I say we make it a rule that we won’t give interviews unless they ask you relevant questions,” he muttered.

Freddie rolled his eyes, tapping Roger on the nose. “We’re not nearly popular enough to pull that yet,” he said. Then he smiled. “ _Yet._ We’ll get there, darling.”

“Keep writing hits like _Killer Queen_ and it’s guaranteed,” Roger said, returning the smile with ease.

And then, Roger was sure, one day the world would regard _all four_ of them as equals. Not just “the two Alphas in charge, the quiet Beta and the slutty Omega- the drummer’s boyfriend.” One of these days, they’d rock the world.

And heaven help the sexist pigs in charge then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all, the Alphas with the "we're in charge, no questions asked, Omegas are our toys" attitude wouldn't just be offended by Queen- they'd be SCARED too. Heaven forbid Omegas start saying they're *gasp* SMART. Good golly, they might demand equal rights! The horror!
> 
> (By the way, anyone else see that they're wanting to storm Loch Ness now? Looks like a trend is starting.)


	7. Freddie: One For The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie comes to the uncomfortable realisation that people are a lot nicer to him now that he's marked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's partially based on my own experiences, a close friend's experience (some dudes cat-called her while jogging until they mistook her ring for an engagement ring), and the fact that the girls at Ladylike noticed people were much nicer to them when they thought the girls were pregnant. Because you know what? Sometimes it's really shitty that certain people don't take "no" for an answer until they think/know you have a partner.

**July, 1973** **  
** **_“Just goes to show, I'm better off without you. One for the road and maybe how about you leave me alone? ‘Cause I'm not alone. Leave me alone, cause I'm not alone. Yeah, I've got friends to help me through, I'd rather be with them than you.” -One For The Road,_ ** **Dodie Clark**

It was a bloody _hot_ day, and Freddie was starting to seriously regret agreeing to go jogging with Mary. She was skinny as anything, but she’d taken it into her head that she needed to lose weight; she figured she’d be more likely to really try hard if someone was there to encourage her.

Freddie thought she was mad, but she was his friend, and it really was such a small favour- which was how he found himself in the park with her. He’d tied his hair back with a bright yellow ribbon and wore a thin tank-top and shorts he could admit didn’t leave much to the imagination.

They came across a stand selling ice cream, soda and water.

“I’d kill for a Magnum,” Mary said mournfully. 

“You’ll only sulk later if you have one,” Freddie pointed out. Mary nodded, sighing.

“Still,” she said, scrambling in her pockets for change. “I’ll grab us some water, yeah?” She skipped towards the stand, waiting in line behind three others. Freddie sat on a nearby bench, basking in the sunshine, but also wishing for a cool breeze.

“Hell- _o,_ gorgeous!”

“Might as well take those clothes off, love, they’re not covering much!”

Freddie resisted the instinct to curl up and cover himself; two Alphas stood a little bit away, grinning at him. Both were dressed in running gear, they were both tall, quite well built, reasonably handsome; one was a brunette, the other had dyed his hair purple and black.

Christ, he was so _sick_ of this. He couldn’t even sit on a bench without being catcalled? Part of him argued that he should duck his head, keep his mouth shut and pretend he didn’t hear them; if he ignored them they’d get bored and move on. Another part of him screamed at him to run to Mary; not only would he have a friend with him, but he’d also have other witnesses. But mostly he was just tired, and too hot and just so _not_ in the mood to put up with this.

Furiously, he rounded on them, but before he could speak the two Alphas suddenly paled.

“Oh shit,” the purple-haired one said. “Sorry, love, didn’t realise you were taken.”

“Our bad,” the brunette said; he grabbed his friend’s arm and they began to hurry on. 

And Freddie was left staring after them in shock. Slowly, his hand went to the mark on his neck. It...It really did scare Alphas off, didn’t it? 

Mary came back with their water and Freddie almost wanted to ask, _Did you see that?_ though she obviously hadn’t. Bringing it up would just worry her too. And yet...And yet…

It happened all day. On the walk home, a Beta knocked into him and rather than the expected, “Watch where you’re going, Omega!” the woman apologised. On the Tube, an Alpha offered Freddie his seat. The sun was starting to set by the time he reached his street, and for the first time ever, Freddie didn’t feel the constant need to look over his shoulder. He passed a group of Alphas outside the pub; one wolf-whistled and the other three instantly shushed him; one even yelled “Sorry, mate!” after Freddie.

He should have been happy. He should have been relieved. Why then, was he so angry?

Brian was the only one there when he got home. He was reading one of those huge books about space, the type that made Freddie’s brain blank out in confusion.

“Okay, Fred?” he asked.

“...People are assholes,” Freddie said. He flopped onto the armchair, tucking his chin on top of his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs. “I- Brimi, it was so _weird_ today. People actually apologised for harassing me!”

“Well...That’s good, isn’t it?” Brian asked, setting his book aside with a concerned frown.

“Yes, of course, I just...I…” He wasn’t even sure how to explain it. It _was_ a good thing. But all the same, he was angry. 

“They’re only sorry because of this mark,” Freddie said; as soon as he said it, he knew it to be true. “They don’t suddenly see me as an equal, they’re just scared of harming another Alpha’s _‘property.’_ ” There was still that stupid, out-dated law that allowed Alphas to attack other Alphas for harassing their Omegas. He’d never read the exact wording, but it basically boiled down to “defending their property.” That law was so old it was ridiculous, but Freddie couldn’t think of a single country that had gotten rid of it.

Legally speaking, if someone groped Freddie in front of Roger tomorrow, Roger would be well within his rights to harm them. He’d done it before, even before this ruse started- because people didn’t look at Freddie and see _Freddie._

Sometimes it just hit him, and then he felt so utterly tired of it.

“You’re not property, Fred,” Brian said gently, and Freddie snorted.

“ _I_ know that. _You_ know that. _They_ don’t.” 

“What happened?” Brian asked. He scooted down the sofa, closer to the armchair.

“I guess I just really started to notice it when I was with Mary,” Freddie said. “Two Alphas cat-called me, but when they saw the mark they apologised. A Beta knocked into me on the way home and apologised. An Alpha offered me a seat on the Tube, but- but normally they’d demand I give them _my_ seat, you know?” He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Was he being over dramatic? “And when I passed the pub on the way here, this Alpha man wolf-whistled and his friends told him to stop, one of them apologised and I just...Why can’t it _always_ be like that?” Nearly growling, Freddie pressed his forehead against his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. “Why do they have to think I’m taken to give me even a little respect!?”

He didn’t mean to shout, but it was out there anyway.

Brian sighed; his large hand rested on the small of Freddie’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right; it’s shitty.”

“But that’s just the way things are,” Freddie muttered sullenly.

“But that’s how they _shouldn’t_ be,” Brian said firmly. “You should be allowed to feel safe walking home every day, not just because people think you’ve got a boyfriend.”

Freddie wasn’t going to argue with that; it was the same point he was trying to make, again and again.

_They’ve Never Had It So Good!_ was the headline on the front page only yesterday. _Fuck that._ Things couldn’t stop here. They had to get _better,_ they had to be _equals._ Freddie appreciated Roger for doing this more than he could say, but that didn’t stop him from wishing it wasn’t necessary.

“Do you think things will ever be different?” Freddie asked, raising his head to meet Brian’s gaze.

“I think so,” Brian said with a small smile. “I really do.”

Freddie hoped so. He really, quite desperately hoped so.

But that day was a long way off. For now, as much as he hated it sometimes, Freddie would have to take what protection he could get. For now, even if the world was against him, he had his pack.

Deacy, Brian and Roger were on his side, he reminded himself. That wouldn’t change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This universe IS kinda dystopian when I stop and really think about it. Like, a few people have called this dystopian and at first I was like "Really??" But...Treating an entire third of the population as brainless sex-toys with limited rights? Fucked up.
> 
> (I hate how little I have to change history in this 'verse. TREAT PEOPLE EQUALLY DAMN IT)


	8. Freddie: 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faking a relationship takes getting used to. Freddie can hardly be blamed for laughing- after all, it's ROGER.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that episode of Friends where Rachel and Ross are getting used to dating and she keeps laughing every time his hand goes to her ass? Yeah, totally got this chapter from that episode.  
> (That said; bitch, why did you get off the plane for HIM!?)

**1973** **  
** **_“It seems like one of those nights; we ditch the whole scene and end up dreaming instead of sleeping. Yeah, we're happy free confused and lonely in the best way. It's miserable and magical, oh yeah. Tonight's the night when we forget about the heartbreaks; it's time, uh oh. I don't know about you but I'm feeling 22. Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you.” -22,_ ** **Taylor Swift**

Freddie knew he shouldn’t keep giggling. This was serious, as weird as it felt. It they were going to pretend to be a couple they had to  _ act  _ like a couple.   
  
Cuddling? Sure, easy; they’d been doing that since they met. Marking? Weird, but he’d gotten used to it by now. Kissing? All but making out?  _ Weird as hell.  _ He knew he’d have to get used to it, but- but this was  _ Roger,  _ this was his best friend, this was the guy who growled at people for flirting with Freddie.

Roger was doing this to  _ protect  _ Freddie. The stakes had risen; they weren’t just trying to fool Paul anymore, they were trying to fool executives. They were trying to fool their growing fanbase (and Freddie couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about that last one). This was all to keep Freddie  _ safe,  _ to keep him from having to be some executive’s sex toy…

But when Roger’s hand landed on his ass, Freddie pulled back with a startled laugh- and that did it, he was laughing again, hands pressed over his mouth in a vain effort to stop it.

_ “Fred!”  _ Despite his exasperated tone, Roger’s lips were twitching in amusement.

“I’m sorry,” Freddie gasped, still laughing. “I just- it was like there was a little voice in my head saying  _ That’s Roger’s hand on your ass,  _ and-” He was laughing too hard to finish. Roger let him go, rolling his eyes, but he was openly grinning now.

“You’re impossible,” he said fondly. “I thought we were over the giggling?”

“I’m done giggling over you  _ marking  _ me, but that was your  _ hand  _ on my  _ ass! _ ”

“Well when you put it like that…” Roger was snickering, biting his lip. “Fuck’s sake, we’re bad at this.”

Freddie shrugged, still helplessly giggling.

It was just  _ funny.  _ Roger was the person he felt safest with; if anyone else had suggested this ploy, he’d have been wary. He’d have been suspicious of what they wanted the whole time. Freddie knew himself; if it was anyone else, this wouldn’t work. He simply wouldn’t have felt safe enough with anyone else.

And yet, because it was Roger, this just felt so strange. It was  _ Roggie.  _ He fought off any creeps that got too close; before they all moved in together he always insisted on either walking, or driving Freddie home after dark. He’d blatantly call Freddie out when he was being over-dramatic or unreasonable. He’d blatantly say “Calm down, dickhead,” then turn around and yell at someone for groping Freddie in the next second.

Was Roger attractive? Yes, highly so. But did Freddie see him that way? No.

Roger was his best friend, simple as that.

And they really needed to get this right.

Freddie bit his lip, shuffling awkwardly. “Sorry,” he said. “I promise I’ll stop laughing, darling.”

“It’s fine,” Roger said, smiling. “It’s just...Gonna take some getting used to. For  _ both  _ of us.”

“You’re not laughing,” Freddie pointed out.

“No, but I’m worried about freaking you out,” Roger admitted. “If you’re uncomfortable…”

“I’m not,” Freddie said. “It’s just strange, that’s all.”

Roger nodded, and silence descended. It just felt more and more awkward.

“Uh...Should we try again?” Roger finally asked. Freddie nodded, admittedly feeling a laugh bubble up in his chest again. He stubbornly fought it down, reminding himself that this was supposed to be  _ serious;  _ they had to get this  _ perfectly,  _ he had to be totally calm, he had to seem like this happened every day.

And okay, the kissing was still strange, but if he could get used to Roger marking his neck he could get used to this. It wasn’t like Roger was a bad kisser, or that he held onto Freddie too tightly; Freddie could pull back at any time, which rather made things easier.

Then Roger’s hand lowered from Freddie’s hip to his ass and he burst out laughing again.

_ “Freddie!” _

“I’m sorry!” Freddie was laughing so hard his eyes were starting to water. 

“You’re fucking hopeless!” Roger cried- and he started laughing too.

“And I repeat:  _ your hand was on my ass, Rog! _ ”

_ “What!?” _

Oh shit.

They turned around, and there was Deacy standing in the doorway, gaping at them.

There was a split second of stunned silence, before Roger and Freddie turned to each other. Roger blinked, Freddie pressed a hand over his mouth and just like that they were laughing again.

“...I don’t want to know,” Deacy said; he looked entirely fed up with them.

“No, you probably don’t,” Roger said cheerfully.

“I’m done,” Freddie laughed. “I’m just- I’m done, no more today.” He ran from the room, still laughing and fled to his piano.

Yes, this would take a  _ lot  _ of getting used to. Freddie supposed they’d get there eventually.

For now, he had to stop giggling before he wet himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sillier content after last time, and next time we'll be moving onto the boys explaining the ruse to Winifred Taylor.


	9. Roger: Walk Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys come clean to Winifred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My best friend is staying the night, so chances are the next chapter of "Sing A New Song" won't be finished until tomorrow, there's a LOT of editing to do there. Meanwhile, here's some fluff and comfort.

**1974** **  
** **_“So come on and show me how we're good; I think that we could do some good. (Mhm). Walk me home in the dead of night, I can't be alone with all that's on my mind. (Mhm). So, say you'll stay with me tonight, ‘cause there is so much wrong going on outside.” -Walk Me Home,_ ** **Pink**

Roger had put it off for as long as he could, but now the damn  _ press  _ thought he and Freddie were dating, the whole  _ country  _ believed it...And Roger may or may not have neglected to mention it to Winifred.

His bad.

She phoned him early, clearly indignant.

“Care to explain why I,  _ your mother,  _ had to hear you have a boyfriend from the  _ newspapers? _ ” she demanded.  _ Uh oh.  _ Roger would much appreciate it if the ground would open up and swallow him. No such luck; he remained standing, and his mother continued raving about his lack of respect, and didn’t he think this  _ mattered?  _ Did he think she wouldn’t care? How careless of him, truly, this was just so typical of him-

_ “Mum!” _ Roger cut her off. “We just...We were keeping it quiet.”

“I want to meet him,” Winifred said. Roger pulled back, blinking at the phone as if she could see him.

“Er…” He pressed the phone back against his ear. “You  _ have  _ met him.” And she’d utterly  _ fawned  _ over Freddie, fussing that he was too skinny and doing her best to make him eat more, and gushing about his nice manners. Out of all Roger’s friends, Freddie had clearly been her favourite.

“Well I haven’t met him as your boyfriend, now have I?” Winifred demanded. Seriously, what was  _ with  _ mothers? “The poor boy doesn’t have any family, Roger, I want him to know he’s welcome here.”

“He knows that, Mum.”

_ “Roger.” _

He should tell her, he thought. He should tell her right now and have done with it. 

Yet the words stuck in his throat. This didn’t feel like the type of conversation to have over the phone.

“How’s this Saturday?” she asked brightly, and Roger gulped. Nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, and said, “Sure, I’ll check with him.”

She outright giggled in glee and Roger felt like a total ass.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He felt even worse when they arrived in Truro. 

“Will she be angry, darling?” Freddie asked worriedly.

“At you? No. At me? ...I think she’ll mostly be disappointed,” Roger sighed. And it was true; he didn’t think his mum would be angry, not when they explained. But damn if she wouldn’t be disappointed; disappointed in him for lying to her, for not explaining straight away. Hell, she’d likely be disappointed it was a ruse to begin with. She was constantly saying she hoped he’d find someone nice to settle down with, and God knew she adored Freddie. In Winifred’s mind, it was the perfect solution: her son dating his best friend? Someone she’d described as “sweet as sugar”? She’d love it.

And Roger knew his mum; she was happy Freddie was an Omega. She was a Beta, Michael was an Alpha and he knew she put their failed marriage down to that; she’d constantly told him and Clare, “Oh, the  _ looks  _ we got. People thought I was reaching above my station and they thought your father was lowering himself. I think the stress of it got to him. We were considered the local oddballs.”

_ No,  _ Roger wanted to protest.  _ He’s just an asshole.  _ He’d said so actually, time and time again, but his mum didn’t believe him.

So he really wasn’t sure how she’d take this. He was nervous as all hell, he already felt ashamed of himself, like he was letting her down in a major way. He was worrying too much, he  _ knew  _ he was overthinking...But this was his  _ mum. _

They didn’t talk much on the way to Winifred’s house. Roger wondered if Freddie was worried about disappointing her too.

(“She speaks to me like I’m clever,” Freddie had said, the first time he met her. He’d seemed surprised, relieved even. “My mama didn’t.”)

Next thing he knew, he was knocking on the door, and Winifred instantly opened it, smiling broadly.

“Roger, sweetie!” she exclaimed, hugging him. He hugged her back, feeling guiltier by the second. The second she released him, she pulled Freddie into a hug, who looked about as guilty as Roger was feeling.

“Well come in, come in, don’t let the heat out! Put your feet up, I’ll pop the kettle on.” She gestured them inside and they followed quietly.

Winifred already had lunch cooking, her best beef stew from the smell of it; she even had flowers on the table.

“Um, Mum...We have something important to tell you…” Roger began. She turned to them, eyes wide.

“Oh goodness, Freddie, you’re not pregnant are you?” she asked. “I can’t smell it…”

_ “No!”  _ they both said. Freddie’s hands flew to his flat stomach; he looked a little pale at the thought. 

“It’s...Oh Christ, Mum we’re- we’re not dating,” Roger blurted out.

She blinked, looking utterly confused. “Pardon?”

“We’re not dating,” Roger repeated weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s to protect me,” Freddie said quietly. His hands fell back to his sides. “Because our contract says EMI would be allowed to assign an Alpha to handle me and my finances otherwise…”

“Well, that’s not too bad, is it?” Winifred asked. She was still holding the kettle.

“It also states they’d be allowed to take their share of my money- whatever share they want. It states that I’d have to make music they approve of, that I’d have to project the image  _ they  _ want...And it all but says they’d be allowed to use me like their personal doll.” Freddie’s smile was sarcastic, weak at the edges. Roger grabbed his hand on reflex.

“At first it was just to scare our assistant off,” Freddie continued. “He can’t take no for an answer.”

“He thinks Freddie’s taken and he  _ still  _ tries it on,” Roger said, feeling the usual swell of disgust he felt whenever Prenter was mentioned.

“But then we read EMI’s contract,” Freddie said. “So...Here we are until our contract is up.”

To Roger’s horror, there were tears in Winifred’s eyes. Before he could apologise, before he could do  _ anything,  _ she set the kettle down and pulled them both into her arms.

“For pity’s sake,” she said hoarsely. “You could have told me. It’s not like I would have blabbled, Rog.”

“I’m sorry, Mum,” Roger mumbled into her hair.

“Don’t be,” she said. “Oh, sweetie, don’t look like that! It’s okay. Both of you, you hear me? It’s okay.” Her hand cupped Roger’s cheek, forcing him to look at her. “It’s a good thing you’re doing,” she said. “You two stick together, yeah?”

Roger nodded. Freddie nodded, biting his lip. Winifred smiled at him, tucking his dark hair behind his ear.

“You look terrified, Freddie,” she said gently. “Honestly, you two sit down, I’ll reheat that kettle- and then I want you to explain  _ properly,  _ understand?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Yes, Mrs Taylor.”

“For the last time, sweetie, it’s  _ Winifred. _ ”

Freddie nodded again and Roger knew damn well he’d still call her Mrs Taylor.

Winifred turned away, reheating the kettle, bustling about with the cups, milk and sugar, and the biscuits. Roger all but fell onto the sofa, sighing in relief. Freddie sat next to him, biting his lip again.

Roger reached out to poke Freddie’s lip; startled, Freddie stopped biting at it, giving Roger a shy smile.

“I was terrified she’d start crying, darling,” he admitted in a whisper. 

“Me too,” Roger said, glancing back to Winifred. She was humming as she worked and Roger finally began to feel at ease.

He should have known she’d understand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially based on the fact that from what I've heard, Winifred Taylor loved Freddie and constantly cooed about his manners. What a bean 💕


	10. Roger: Miss Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger in rut and Freddie in heat always leads to a mess; add Prenter to the mix, and Roger's fighting to keep his cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Directioner1988 requested "a scene where Freddie and Roger are kissing and that slug Prenter walks in on them please." I may have tweaked it a bit, but here we go!

**Madison Square Gardens, America, 1974** **  
** **_“A pretty picture but the scenery is so loud. A face like heaven catching lighting in your nightgown; but back away from the water, babe, you might drown, the party isn't over tonight. (Party in your night gown). Hey, where will you be waking up tomorrow morning? Hey, out the back door, goddamn, but I love her anyway.” -Miss Jackson,_ ** **Panic! At The Disco**

When Roger’s rut and Freddie’s heat synced it tended to be a mess. Roger could admit it was mostly his fault; he was the possessive one, the clingy one, the one whose temper suddenly turned into a bomb. For all that Freddie’s mood swings could be terrifying, he was generally easy to look after; give him physical contact, keep the painkillers on hand just in case of a headache or migraine, and always make sure he was hydrated.

But Roger? Roger was a lot harder to handle. He knew this about himself, there was no use in pretending otherwise. He hated letting Freddie out of his sight when he was in rut (hell, he even hated not knowing where Deacy was); he snapped and snarled a lot more, picking fights over the smallest things (usually with Brian). 

Freddie’s heats were irregular; they rarely synced up together. Today was an exception. Freddie’s heat wasn’t meant to be due for another week, yet here they were. As such, Roger had been  _ hovering.  _ For once, Freddie took it in his stride, fondly rolling his eyes and letting Roger hang onto him.

There was a problem however, a problem that set the primal side of Roger’s brain into a panic: the mark on Freddie’s neck was fading. With the stupidly long flight, the jet lag and all the concert preparations, Roger had forgotten to touch it up. And Freddie was in heat. Every Alpha they passed stared at him, smirked at him, leered at him; Prenter hovered even more than usual. Heck, it had triggered Brian’s mother-hen side. Which was fine. It was  _ everyone else _ that Roger didn’t trust.

The logical side of him argued that Freddie was fine; he was being ridiculous, he was letting his Alpha instincts get the better of him. He  _ knew  _ it, but it didn’t help, it didn’t stop it.

“Fred, the  _ mark, _ ” he fretted; they were both still in the dressing room, there was only fifteen minutes until showtime.

“It’s fine, Rog,” Freddie dismissed. He eyed himself critically in the mirror, turning this way and that to take in every detail. It was certainly a show-stopping outfit; a sheer black lace shirt, in such a deep V-cut that it nearly revealed Freddie’s belly button; the flowing sleeves nearly covered his hands. It was paired with a tight pair of black leather trousers and platform boots. His eye make-up was bold and dramatic, his hair was fluffed out, curling around his face.

You’d have to be blind to  _ not  _ notice how good Freddie looked tonight- which was the damn  _ problem.  _

Freddie had performed in heat before, so it wasn’t like Roger didn’t think he could pull it off. He knew Freddie could. But Roger was also in rut, and possessive, and worried.

_ Prenter  _ was out there. A lot of creeps were out there. Roger had heard two stagehands murmuring together about Freddie earlier.

“It’s not fine!” Roger protested. “Can I just touch it up a bit?  _ Please? _ ”

Freddie caught his eye in the mirror; his critical stare morphed into a worried frown.

“This is really worrying you, isn’t it, darling?” he asked.

Roger nodded, biting at his thumbnail. 

Freddie sighed, turning to face him. He glanced worriedly at the clock, but came and sat next to Roger. “Okay then, dear, but do be quick about it.”

Just like that, Roger was attached to Freddie’s neck; there was quite a lot of biting involved in marking. He remembered how nervous he’d been when he first suggested this and could have laughed; it had become so  _ normal.  _ It was almost routine by now. Freddie tilted his head back to allow for better access, Roger bit down, occasionally pulling back to check if the mark was sufficiently darkened yet.

He’d just ducked back down when the door opened- and he heard a growl.

A growl of his own escaped before he could stop it, and he pulled Freddie flush against him, turning to snarl at Prenter.

_ “Fuck off,”  _ Roger growled. Prenter was snarling, fists clenched. With an obvious effort, he took a deep breath and said, “Brian and John are looking for you.”

“I said fuck off,” Roger repeated. Freddie’s scent filled his nose, Freddie looked between Roger and Prenter quickly, and Freddie pressed closer into Roger, avoiding Prenter’s gaze.

He was nervous, and that just served to piss Roger off further, reminding him that Freddie didn’t feel safe with this  _ snake  _ around.

If it wasn’t for Reid bustling in he might have hit Prenter. Their manager was calling, “Roger? Freddie?” and Roger could hear his quick footsteps down the hall. “Paul? What are you doing standing there?” And then Reid was there, peering over Prenter’s shoulder.

“Oh…” Reid laughed, clapping Prenter on the back. “There you two are.” He smirked at Roger. “You’ve five more minutes, okay?”

Roger nodded, still staring Prenter down. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; any other time, he might have been surprised by just how ferocious he looked, but now all he could think was  _ Good. Scare him off. _

Reid pulled Prenter away; their assistant still looked murderous, and Roger was torn between decking him and laughing in his face.

“...That was awkward,” Freddie muttered, hiding his face in Roger’s neck.

“Maybe that’ll shut him up for a while,” Roger said. One could only hope.

“You looked ready to kill each other, darling.”

With a huff of laughter, Roger squeezed Freddie’s waist and quickly kissed the top of his head. “Oh, Fred, don’t tempt me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we've seen before Roger is temperamental and possessive as hell when he's in rut, particularly if Freddie's in heat too, so really it was too good an opportunity to pass up.


	11. Freddie: U & Ur Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fake relationship comes in handy, even outside of EMI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayoungmartyr requested " a chapter where Roger and Freddie use their fake relationship from someone outside of Paul and EMI? Maybe from just other alphas?"   
> This one actually takes place before the boys even meet Foster; it's just after they meet Reid in fact, so they haven't had to use the ruse on anyone other than Paul and Reid yet- but as Freddie discovers, it has it's merits...

**London, 1973** **  
** **_“I'm not here for your entertainment, you don't really wanna mess with me tonight. Just stop and take a second. I was fine before you walked into my life. ‘Cause you know it's over before it began; keep your drink just give me the money. It's just you and your hand tonight.” -U & Ur Hand, _ ** **Pink**

It was just a fun night out; the  _ Queen  _ boys, Veronica, Chrissie, Mary and her friend Tracy all went to the nearest pub. It was the usual plan: they’d stick around the pub for a while, where it was quieter, before heading to the club down the street. 

It had been a hectic week; first they’d meet John Reid on Tuesday, and apparently Freddie and Roger were fake-dating now; then Deacy was given a crazy group-project due in two weeks, but one guy just  _ refused  _ to do his share of the work; Veronica's job and her classes were keeping her too busy to even blink. Mary had at least five customers yell at her for not stocking some dress or other in the right shade of purple, Tracy mentioned something about their douchebag downstairs neighbor yelling at her for blasting the TV too loudly (it hadn't even been their apartment, it had been the one next to theirs). Brian and Chrissie had both been too busy to so much as call each other for more than five minutes...They all just wanted a fun night to themselves.

They needed to unwind and what better way to do it than get shit-faced together? As far as plans went, Freddie liked this one.

He should have known  _ someone  _ would bother him. Heaven forbid he gets a little time to himself.

Freddie was leaning against the crowded bar, waiting to be served, when an Alpha slid in next to him. It was cramped as it was, and the guy pushing in only served to knock Freddie into the Beta next to him. He shot the Beta man an apologetic smile which the guy didn’t even seem to notice; the bartender was busy trying to make five different cocktails for a group of girls further down the row....And Freddie could  _ feel  _ that he was being stared at.

Biting back an annoyed sigh (Roger had better be pulling faces at him across the room, or so help him God…), he twisted around- and sure enough, the Alpha guy was looking him up and down. He was as tall as Brian, broad and muscular, with dark blonde hair and brown eyes, a slightly crooked smile. He was, in every immediate way, the pinnacle of what an Alpha should look like. Handsome, tall and strong. Too bad Freddie wasn’t in the mood tonight; he rolled his eyes and turned away.

“What’re you having?” the Alpha asked. Freddie ignored him. Maybe if he just stayed quiet the guy would leave him alone. And maybe the guy was just being friendly, maybe he wasn’t even flirting, but- but Freddie was here with his  _ friends.  _ He just wasn’t in the mood tonight.

The bartender appeared in front of Freddie. “Sorry for the wait, pal. What can I get you?”

“Just a gin and tonic, thanks darling,” Freddie said. The bartender nodded, quickly getting to work.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” the Alpha asked. Freddie didn’t bother hiding his annoyed sigh.

“Look,” he said. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Lighten up, I’m just being friendly,” the Alpha said. Freddie did his best to go back to ignoring him. When the bartender set the gin and tonic down in front of him, Freddie pulled the money from his pocket- but the Alpha knocked his hand away, quickly handing the bartender his own money.

“I’m paying for this one,” he said with a smile; he shot Freddie a wink, seemingly oblivious to Freddie’s clenched fists and scowl. The bartender didn’t notice anything amiss; he took the money and moved on to serve someone else.

“I’m not interested,” Freddie said, as firmly as he could.

“Oh, don’t be that way,” the Alpha laughed. “Aren’t Omegas all about having fun? I’m Gordon- shall I just keep calling you ‘gorgeous,’ or can I have a name?”

_ Ugh!  _ Freddie glared up at him, pushing the gin and tonic away. Tempting as it was to just take it and run, it simply wasn’t worth it. He’d seen this move before; if he took the drink, he  _ ‘owed’  _ Gordon. If he kept refusing, he was being an asshole.

Suddenly, a flash of inspiration hit.

“I’m here with my boyfriend,” Freddie said. If Reid and Paul believed it, surely it could work here and now?

Sure enough, Gordon’s smile slipped, though it came back soon enough.

“I’m not seeing any marking,” he said. His hand reached out to touch Freddie’s hair; Freddie ducked away, practically leaping back a step.

“Recent development,” Freddie said, which was true enough. Thank God, from this angle he caught Roger’s gaze; he widened his eyes, minutely jerking his head at Gordon, he mouthed  _ ‘Roggie’ _ \- and that instantly did the trick, Roger pushed away from their group’s table and strode over, standing as tall as he could.

“Hey, Fred,” Roger said breezily, sliding an arm around Freddie’s waist. “You were taking ages.”

“I just...got waylaid, darling,” Freddie said. Roger looked at Gordon, raising an unimpressed eyebrow; the guy was much taller than Roger, but under Roger’s angry stare he seemed to shrink.

“This guy bothering you?” Roger asked; his tone was pleasant, but his eyes were icy.

Gordon, thank God, backed away, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry man,” he said. “Didn’t realise he was taken.”

“He is,” Roger said.

Gordon nodded, suddenly looking awkward. He took another step back. “Well, uh...Congrats, he’s a looker.” He nodded again and disappeared into the crowd. 

Smirking, Freddie grabbed the gin and tonic off the bar, leaning further into Roger.

“Thanks, darling,” he said brightly. His smirk widened as he tapped Roger on the nose. “This fake dating thing might come in handy outside of work too, hm?”

“Might do,” Roger agreed with a grin. He gave Freddie’s waist a squeeze before letting go. “Now let’s get back to the others before Mary becomes convinced you’ve been abducted by aliens.”

“I wasn’t gone  _ that  _ long!” Freddie protested; he automatically linked arms with Roger as they walked.

“Long enough that poor Ronnie’s starting to fret.”

As they retook their seats (and Veronica  _ did  _ visibly relax), Freddie sipped on his drink and mulled things over.

Really, the fake dating idea  _ could  _ be useful; it had stopped Paul from staring when they met him and...Well, now it scared Gordon off. It could scare a  _ lot  _ of pushy people off.

Freddie had absolutely no qualms with using this to his advantage; if it got him some peace and quiet, bring it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger will fight you if you bother Freddie and is that really what you want?
> 
> Also I can't be the only one who's seen people use the "let me buy you a drink/let me pay for this drink" move, right? I've had to just Nope on outta there when they persist. Like, maybe you ARE just being friendly, but when I say "I don't drink" that means "I don't drink" it doesn't mean "buy me a drink anyway and call me a bitch for refusing." (Drinking just makes my anxiety worse, ya feel me?)


	12. Freddie: You Need To Calm Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fans genuinely just want to meet the band. Others have some pretty invasive requests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ScholarlyBAMF requested "dealing with fangirls who want to see them kiss." Here we go!
> 
> With any luck, the next chapter of "Sing A New Song" should be finished by tonight. The anxiety has been kicking my butt the last few days, so it's been slow going.

**February, London, 1974** **  
** **_“And I ain't tryin’ to mess with your self-expression, but I've learned the lesson that stressin' and obsessin' 'bout somebody else is no fun. And snakes and stones never broke my bones! So, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh! You need to calm down, you're being too loud. And I'm just like oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh (oh). You need to just stop! Like can you just not step on my gown? You need to calm down.” -You Need To Calm Down,_ ** **Taylor Swift**

Freddie had decided practically right away that he hated the press; as their popularity grew, they got more and more invasive questions- and if someone said he looked _exotic_ one more time he’d scream. 

He didn’t expect to get annoyed with their fans too.

Honestly, he found it flattering that so many hung around after shows, hoping to meet them. They’d had more than one teenager shyly give them a poster they’d designed, or a box of chocolates, even a few funny cartoon key-rings. One Omega boy _cried_ when Freddie hugged him. It was sweet. Reid was even setting up a fan club and newsletter to let them know what _Queen_ was up to; it also provided the fans with an opportunity to mingle and debate with each other. 

Which was rather where the problem started. Freddie was used to seeing speculation about his and Roger’s “relationship” in gossip columns. A lot of people were already wondering when they’d bond or marry; people were already asking about their stances on babies. Of course, there were people who said Roger let Freddie run wild, that he should reign him in and all that old-fashioned rubbish, but for every nay-sayer there were at least ten people who seemed to support them.

Then there were the fans. They practically _all_ seemed to support it.

“I feel bad,” Freddie said, reading the latest comments from fans in the newsletter. “We’re lying to them and they’ve no idea.”

“We’re lying to keep you safe,” Brian pointed out, peering at the comments over Freddie’s shoulder.

“I know, but...They’re all being so _sweet,_ ” Freddie fretted. Roger leaned over his other shoulder, looking quite guilty as he read the comments of support.

“Ah shit,” he said. “That _is_ sweet.”

_Why should Roger “reign Freddie in”? What makes them so great is that they’re EQUALS in this. Ignore the press guys, you’re adorable! -Hayley, age 18_

_Get you an Alpha like Roger! -James, age 21_

Brian pointed to a comment further down.

_I’m with Roger- Freddie’s great the way he is. Dating isn’t about “owning” anyone, it’s about being equals and loving and supporting each other- which they’re doing, so why all the fuss? Quit it with the backwards bullshit guys, it’s 1974, not 1874. -Michael, age 19_

“If anything it’s nice to see our way of thinking isn’t as strange as the press like to think,” Brian said.

“I suppose,” Freddie said. He still felt horribly guilty. These people _supported_ them and their music; these people invested their time and money into _Queen._

And they had no idea they were being lied to. It was hard to _not_ feel guilty.

“Hey, no pouting,” Deacy said, gently tugging on a stray strand of Freddie’s hair. “I know you don’t like lying, Fred, but it’s for a _reason._ ”

“I know,” Freddie said, because of course he did. But the guilt lingered.

But then, it turned out, there were some pushy little pricks that he didn’t feel bad about lying to _at all._

  
  
  
  
  


As per usual, a crowd of fans lingered after their latest show. They were waiting to get their autographs, to get posters signed, to get photos with the band. Although Freddie was exhausted he kept his showman face on, bouncing about the place as if he had boundless energy, throwing about flirty and sarcastic remarks as the mood took him. It certainly seemed to keep everyone happy.

One of his favourite instances that night was when an Omega boy, only twelve from the look of him, shyly edged forward with an older woman that must have been his mother- an Omega herself. The child was quite short for his age, with floppy brown hair and big brown eyes.

“Hello, darling,” Freddie said brightly.

“Hi,” the boy mumbled. He glanced at his mother uncertainly, clutching a sheet of paper to his chest.

“Nicky, you’ve been whining about wanting to meet him for weeks!” the child’s mother laughed. “Ask him to sign it, lovie, no need to be so shy.”

The boy- Nicky, apparently- edged closer, holding out the paper; only it wasn’t paper at all, it was a photo of Freddie from their latest ‘shoot. It was a solo picture of Freddie wearing his favourite red velveteen jacket. He was looking straight at the camera, hands on his hips and smirking; he was standing as tall as he could, an almost challenging glint in his eyes. Everything about his stance screamed _Bring it on!_ There was nothing submissive about it.

Just the way Freddie liked it.

Beaming, Freddie signed it. Nicky was staring at him with utter awe, and suddenly it all clicked.

“Did you only present a little while ago?” he asked gently. 

Nicky nodded. “Everyone’s treating me different,” he mumbled. “Like, one of the boys in class always asked me to help with his math homework, but…” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Now he says I’m too dumb to help.”

“Do you like math?” Freddie asked.

Nicky nodded again, smiling slightly. “It’s my favourite subject,” he said. Freddie smiled at him, bending down to his level.

“I wasn’t even allowed to learn math after I presented,” he said, shooting a quick look over his shoulder to make sure no one else was listening. Nicky’s eyes damn near popped out of his head.

“Really? _Why?_ ”

“Because where I grew up, Omegas didn’t go to a proper secondary school,” Freddie said. “We weren’t taught math or science or...anything like that really. The teachers said it would be too hard for us. We were taught how to clean or cook, or- or how to make an Alpha want to marry us. They let us learn music and art, and some history but not much geography.”

“That’s stupid,” Nicky said vehemently, and Freddie grinned.

“It is,” he agreed. Quickly, above his own signature, he scribbled, _‘You’re equal. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.’_

Nicky beamed when he saw what Freddie had written- and threw his arms around Freddie’s waist, hugging him tightly.

“Thank you,” Nicky mumbled. Nicky’s mother had been frowning ever since her son mentioned people calling him stupid, but now she was smiling again. This time, Freddie felt near tears- but not in a _bad_ way. He still felt happy. It was surreal to know that he could actually _help_ other Omegas.

And then Nicky and his mother were gone, Freddie wandered back to Roger...And his good mood soon vanished.

A group of seven teenagers, boys and girls, all of them Alphas and Betas, came over.

“Could we get a picture of you guys?” one of the girls asked; she was a tall red-head Alpha with freckles.

“Yeah, sure,” Roger said with a grin- only none of the teenagers moved.

“Oh, not _with_ you guys, _of_ you guys,” one of the boys said; a skinny Beta with fluffy blonde hair.

“...Sure,” Roger said again. He slid an arm around Freddie’s waist, and Freddie waited expectantly for the girl with the camera to take the photo...And then he realised that the teenagers all looked a little _embarrassed_ about something.

“Actually, we were wondering if we could get one of you kissing?” the girl with the camera asked. Her friends, although various levels of embarrassed, all nodded.

Freddie shook his head. “Afraid not, darlings,” he said. One of the boys rolled his eyes.

“Please?” another boy asked. “You two are- you’re really great together.”

“No,” Freddie said again. “Sorry, but...No.”

“Just _one_ photo?” the red-headed Alpha asked pleadingly. She turned to Roger and smiled brightly. “We mean it, you two are great together, and you look great together too, and-”

“Oh, is it just that we _look_ great?” Roger demanded. Freddie elbowed him in the side, and Roger ducked his head, scowling.

“Sorry,” Freddie said. “But that’s just not happening. If you want a regular photo of us, or with us, that’s fine- but we’re not going to kiss on demand.”

They’d both gotten used to kissing each other by now, but on demand? For a photo? Not happening.

One of the Alphas in the group, a boy with long brown hair was scowling at Freddie. One of the Beta girls was outright glaring.

“Can’t you tell him to lighten up?” the boys demanded of Roger. The entire group nodded.

Roger scoffed, pulling Freddie closer. “Shouldn’t you kids be in bed by now?” he asked with a vicious little grin. “We _both_ said no.” He rolled his eyes, steering them both away. “C’mon, Fred, let’s go.”

“Were we too rude?” Freddie asked, looking up at him.

“Hardly,” Roger scoffed. “And even if we were rude, so what? They were worse. I don’t care if I piss off some brats like that, they should learn some manners.”

And maybe Roger had a point. Maybe Freddie was worrying too much. You couldn’t please everyone, and they shouldn’t _have_ to kiss on demand.

“Where were you guys?” Brian asked, as security finally led the band to the limo.

“Some kids wanted us to kiss for a photo,” Roger said.

“Bet they just want wanking material,” Deacy said drily.

_“John Deacon!”_

“You know I’m right, Freddie!”

Freddie turned and slapped Roger on the arm, practically shoving him into the limo. _“This is your fault,”_ he hissed. “Deacy never used to talk like that until you hung out!”

(He missed Deacy frantically shaking his head at Roger, a silent warning to keep his mouth shut.)

Well, it may have been the first time they were asked to kiss for their fans but it sure wouldn’t be the last.

Freddie would just have to get creative with his refusals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a lot of you really seem to ship Roger and Freddie for real, so if you're interested I'm thinking of writing a (short-ish) peek into a timeline where they DID get together? I know it wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea but...It could be fun. The idea has gripped onto my brain.


	13. Roger: Why Did It Have To Be Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain Miss Dominique Beyrand catches Roger's eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this is based on fact; Dom was Richard Branson's assistant and they met during the planning of Queen's free Hyde Park show (though the show took place in 1976- here, negotiations for it begin in 1975.)

**1975** **  
** **_“Nights can be empty and nights can be cold, so you were looking for someone to hold. That's only natural, but why did it have to be me? I was so lonesome, I was blue; I couldn't help it, it had to be you, and I always thought you knew the reason why. I only wanted a little love affair. Now I can see you are beginning to care. But baby, believe me, it's better to forget me.” -Why Did It Have To Be Me?,_ ** **ABBA**

Richard Branson was wanting to organise a show with _Queen,_ though with their already packed schedule thanks to EMI it was proving difficult to organise anything- and Foster wasn’t happy that Reid was letting them talk to Branson either.

“They work for _me!_ ” they’d heard Foster shout at Reid. “They work for EMI, not Branson! He wants to organise a _free_ concert!? No one will be seeing a penny from something like that!”

As per usual, it always came back to money with Foster. It seemed to be his biggest concern in life; how much money could he make and how could he keep making more?

Whatever. Roger quite like Branson, and the free show idea had merit.

Branson, at least, was sensible of the difficulties involved. For the first time since they entered the music business, they met someone that didn’t push them or make impossible demands. He actually seemed to understand that EMI would make all their lives very difficult. He gave the band a wry smile. “Perhaps we can finish this discussion after your next album?” he suggested. “I’m thinking Hyde Park could be a nice venue, hm?” He raised an eyebrow at Foster’s continued yelling- and now Reid was yelling right back.

“I’ll get my assistant to leave my details with you, boys,” Branson said. “Then we can talk without all this argy-bargy.” He shook their hands and departed.

“I like him,” Deacy said. “He doesn’t act like we’re idiots.” Which was always a bonus, especially considering who they usually had to deal with.

Speak of the devil, the door to Foster’s office slammed open.

“Finally fucked off, has he?” Foster sneered. “Good riddance. Now you four get in here.”

Freddie caught Roger’s eyes and poked his tongue out.

“I can’t wait to be rid of him,” Freddie muttered.

“One more album and we’re free,” Roger reminded him. 

They just had to keep this up for a while longer; they’d signed a three contract deal. Just _one more_ and they could get out of here; they could finally escape Foster and Sheffield, and their shitty contract. They could _all_ get better pay, better working conditions. With their quickly soaring popularity they could find a record label that wouldn’t treat Freddie like a sex toy, Roger was sure of it.

_Just one more,_ he told himself and this would be done. They wouldn’t have to act anymore, they wouldn’t have to lie to the world anymore.

_Just one more and we’re free._

  
  
  
  
  


Typical really, that those plans flew out of his head the second he laid eyes on Dominique Beyrand. She came running up to the four of them as they headed for Roger’s car, shooting a nervous look at Foster’s window.

She was gorgeous with her long, thick black hair and big blue eyes; she had a sweet smile and a confident tilt to her chin. She was an Alpha like Roger, with a scent of honey and rosemary- and damn it all, that French accent was cute as hell.

“Sorry, but Mr Branson sent me,” she said with that sweet smile. “I’m Dominique Beyrand.” She held out a little folded piece of paper, looking around at the four of them. “Those are all his details- his office hours, his work number and home number, and office address of course.” As Brian took the paper she shrugged, a rueful edge to her smile. “He says he understands that Mr Foster isn’t...happy right now.”

“He’s never happy,” Roger said bluntly and she laughed.

“So every rumour says.”

Their eyes locked and he found himself feeling ridiculously tongue-tied. For a moment, he forgot about the other three.

“We should get going,” Deacy said and Roger snapped out of it.

“Right, well, uh- see you around,” he said and oh fuck, why did his voice sound so strangled?

If Dominique noticed she was kind enough to not say anything. She nodded at them all, said “Nice to meet you all,” and as she walked away she turned back and waved.

Roger tried hard not to wish she was waving at _just_ him.

As they all climbed into the car, Freddie smirked at him.

“Don’t say a word,” Roger said.

Freddie just continued to smirk, but when they got home, he leaned in and whispered, “Like you said, we’ll be out of here soon.”

They would.

Roger tried hard to put _that_ out of his head too, because suddenly, he felt like nothing good could come from those thoughts.

But still...He hoped she’d be there when they next went to meet Branson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Rog already has it bad.


	14. Roger: Light 'Em Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and Freddie run into Michael Taylor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some violence here, though for once it's not from Roger...

**August, 1974** **  
** **_“My childhood spat back the monster that you see. My songs know what you did in the dark. So light ‘em up-up-up, light ‘em up-up-up; light ‘em up-up-up, I'm on fire.” -Light ‘Em Up,_ ** **Fall Out Boy**

Roger should have known his dad wouldn’t give in so easily.

He’d been the terror of Roger’s childhood; after the divorce his visits slowly dwindled down to nothing. Roger hadn’t heard from him in  _ years,  _ but after they appeared on the BBC, after their popularity became obvious, Michael Taylor suddenly turned up again, asking Winifred to get him in touch with Roger.

Briefly, Roger had hoped his dad was sorry.

No, of course not; he wanted to know how much money Roger was making. He wanted Roger to  _ help him out.  _

“I’m your  _ father, _ ” Michael had snapped when Roger refused. “It’s the least you can do!”

“Go to hell,” was Roger’s response. “You  _ hit  _ me, you hit Mum, you hit Clare and you expect me to  _ help  _ you!?”

He stormed out of the restaurant, leaving his father with the bill.

He’d hoped that would be the end of it, but no such luck. He and Freddie finally found some birthday presents for Deacy; they were nearly home when they ran into Michael- though it quickly became obvious it wasn’t a coincidence. 

“Roger!” came the furious shout, and suddenly Michael was storming towards them. Tense as a spring, instantly on the defensive, Roger pushed Freddie behind him. 

“Knew I’d find you eventually,” Michael said icily. “Now, about our conversation-”

“I’m not giving you money,” Roger snarled. “I don’t owe you jack-shit and for the last time, I’m _still broke,_ it’s not like I could help you anyway. If you don’t fuck off I’m calling the police!”

“Roger,” Freddie whispered, holding onto his arm tightly. He peered around Roger, eyes wide. “Let’s just go.”

Roger would have gladly listened to him, but Michael’s eyes zeroed in on Freddie and narrowed on their shopping bags. One of Deacy’s presents, a new (and admittedly expensive) jacket was clearly visible.

And Michael got the entirely wrong end of the stick.

“I see how it is,” he huffed. “Can’t spare a penny to help out your own father, but you’ll throw your money away on your whore.”

Roger saw red. He thrust his bags into Freddie’s arms, getting right into Michael’s face. He was as tall as his dad now and much broader. Michael stumbled back a step, clearly surprised even if it was only briefly.

“What did you just call him?” Roger growled, fists clenched. He could practically hear the blood roaring in his ears as he bared his teeth in a snarl.

“You heard me,” Michael said, but his eyes were wider. “You  _ know  _ how it is, don’t play dumb. All Omegas are sluts, that’s the way of it; you don’t need to waste your money on  _ him.  _ His type spread their legs for anyone.”

“Say that again,” Roger said. “I fucking dare you.”

“Rog,  _ please, _ ” Freddie said, a tinge of desperation in his voice, but Roger barely heard him.

Michael looked him square in the eye.

“All Omegas are sluts,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. It was clear, from his casual stance, from his steady voice, that he believed every word he said.

Roger had put up with a lot of shit from this man over the years. He had to listen to Foster and Sheffield demean Freddie almost daily.

Roger wasn’t about to let  _ this  _ scumbag away with it.

Well, it was Michael’s fault he knew how to throw a punch so well. May as well show him what a fast learner Roger was.

Snarling, red faced with anger, he raised his fist- but Freddie grabbed him, standing in between them both, dropping the bags to the ground.

“Get out of my way, Fred,” he snarled.

“No,” Freddie said steadily. He shook his head, eyes pleading. “Darling, let’s just go, he’s not worth it, you  _ know  _ he’s not.  _ Please,  _ Rog.” His voice lowered. “You’re better than him.”

Michael was still glaring at him, but Freddie still stood between them, easily holding Roger’s furious gaze. He looked totally calm; any other Omega Roger knew would be trembling at the thought of standing in between two snarling Alphas, but Freddie held his ground.

“...Yeah,” Roger breathed. He nodded, stepping back. “Yeah, okay.”

He saw Freddie sigh with relief as he stooped to gather the bags- but Michael wasn’t having it. He growled, jerking Freddie around to face him.

“Listen here, you little whore-  _ FUCK! _ ”

Roger let out a startled laugh as Freddie’s tiny, rock-hard fist connected with Michael’s nose. There was a satisfying  _ crack!  _ and blood flowed. Freddie shook his fist out, teeth bared in a snarl of his own.

“Come near Roger again,” he said viciously. “And I’ll kill you.”

“Holy  _ fuck,  _ Fred!” Roger laughed. Michael was groaning, tilting his head back, hand over his nose.

“Son of a  _ bitch, _ ” his father hissed. Roger once more pushed Freddie behind him, but he wasn’t snarling anymore; he was openly smiling.

“He’s one Omega you don’t want to mess with, Michael,” he said. “And you don’t want to mess with me either. Come near  _ either  _ of us- hell, if you go near Mum or Clare too, I’ll call the police. And if they don’t do anything, believe me,  _ I will. _ ” 

His father looked at him like he truly couldn’t understand why Roger wasn’t on his side.

_ “That’s his loss, darling,”  _ Freddie said, time and time again until Roger started to believe him.

He still believed him.

He took Freddie’s hand and practically  _ marched  _ home, rather than walk, holding onto Freddie’s hand the entire time.

“You’re brilliant, Fred,” he said as they reached the flat. “Fucking  _ brilliant,  _ you know that?”

“He deserved it,” Freddie said, so simply, so certainly. It was bizarre. It was  _ Freddie;  _ Freddie who hated violence, who never used his boxing skills unless he totally had to...And he’d just punched Michael for him.

“He did,” Roger agreed. “But that was still a sight for sore eyes. Bri and Deacy will be sorry they missed it.”

“I meant it,” Freddie said, looking up at him. “You’re better than him.”

Well then. Damn if that didn’t choke him up.

He flung his arms around Freddie, holding on tight, heedless of all the shopping in the way, burying his face in Freddie’s thick hair.

“Love you, Freddie.”

He could feel Freddie’s smile against his shoulder.

“Love you too, Rog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie's usually the emotional one, not the violent one- but damn I can't blame him for getting that punch in. This chapter makes some references to the "Bad Blood" chapter in "My Lonely Days Are Through"- as stated, once Queen appeared on the BBC, Michael started looking for money from Roger.


	15. Freddie: Fighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band's hatred of EMI is solidified once and for all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of objectification and sexual harassment in this one, guys. Proceed with caution if that could upset you (better safe than sorry) 💕
> 
> Because how many stories have there been of "sex symbols" being forced into skimpy outfits they're not comfortable wearing? Fuck that shit.

**London, October 1973** **  
** **_“You tried to hide your lies, disguise yourself through living in denial, but in the end you'll see you won't stop me. I am a fighter (I am a fighter) and I, I ain't gon’ stop. (I ain’t gonna stop)There is no turning back, I've had enough.” -Fighter,_ ** **Christina Aguilera**

Freddie would be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated; Foster had arranged this party to introduce _Queen_ as his newest signing to the big names in the business. Every executive from EMI was here; producers, managers, executives from other labels, even other bands and solo singers were all here. Everyone was dressed magnificently; the drinks flowed non-stop, servers walked around with platters of finger-food, the music was loud but _just_ low enough that they didn’t have to shout to hear each other. There were multi-coloured lights, glitter and streamers galore. Not a single detail had been overlooked.

Foster’s wife, a petite Omega was with him the whole night. He didn’t remove his hand from her hip, pulling her along with him. Despite her intricate hair-style and make-up she still looked pale and tired. Married and bonded to a man like that, Freddie couldn’t blame her.

Every single server was an Omega, Freddie noticed. The only ones not in skimpy uniforms were the bartenders, safe in their black t-shirts and jeans. But every single waiter and waitress was barely covered. Some of them looked annoyed, some of them were smiling and some looked mortified. He caught one executive slapping a waitress’s ass; she stumbled in surprise but still gave the man a tight-lipped smile.

Well damn if that didn’t remind him of working at _The Salmon;_ but Collin had been a kind boss. If he caught anyone touching Freddie or the other Omegas on his staff, he kicked them out, no questions asked. They couldn’t expect such protection from Foster.

“This is disgusting,” Brian muttered. Roger, who’d kept an arm around Freddie since they arrived, tightened his grip, growling.

“Evening boys,” came Sheffield’s voice, and they all plastered their showman faces on.

“Mr Sheffield,” Brian said with a nod. “Lovely to see you.”

“Please, Brian, it’s Norman.” Sheffield raised his glass of wine in salute, looking them all over. “Well, I’m pleased the clothes we sent you fit.” Then his eyes landed on Freddie and his smile twitched. “I take it yours didn’t fit, Freddie?”

Ah, yes, the outfits EMI had so graciously sent. Knowing they were broke, Sheffield and Foster had sent them clothing “appropriate” for such a gathering. They’d picked a black theme throughout, making them look like a team. Brian had a smart black suit and white silk shirt, tailored perfectly to his shape and size. Roger’s outfit kept the “bad boy” aesthetic; black fitted pants, black boots with surprisingly glittery gold laces, a low-cut black shirt and a black jacket with thin gold stripes. Deacy had a white button-up, a black and white blazer and black suit pants.

What they’d sent Freddie barely counted as clothes; a sheer purple leotard that was cut in a wide V, right down to his belly-button and backless; the black leather trousers had been so tight he could barely breathe in them. To top it all off, they’d sent a gold choker, studded with faux red and purple jewels, that looked eerily like a collar when he tried it on.

And he knew damn well it wasn’t to make him look like _Roger’s_ pet. It was to make him look like EMI’s.

He’d taken one look at himself in the mirror and whipped it all off before his boys could see. If they did, God knew what trouble there’d be. If Roger had seen it there was no way he’d be keeping his cool in front of Sheffield now.

Instead, Freddie wore his gold medallion belt and black pants, a simple black shirt and a jacket he frequently “borrowed” from Roger; also black with a gold floral pattern. He hadn’t even realised he and Roger matched until he left his bedroom. Still, it worked in their favour; it made them look like a lot of the couples here, in matching (or near to matching) outfits.

He smiled sweetly at Sheffield.

“I’m afraid it was too small,” he said.

“Pity,” Sheffield said. “Still, you look lovely.”

“Thank you.”

Sheffield caught someone’s eye in the crowd; he called, “Ah, Robert!” and moved on. _Good riddance,_ Freddie thought, resting his head on Roger’s shoulder.

“How small was the outfit if it didn’t fit _you_ anyway?” Deacy laughed.

“Indecently so,” Freddie said honestly; luckily his boys all laughed, even Roger. He’d better just keep the stupid thing in it’s box until it had to be returned- _rented_ and all that shit. As if EMI would send them expensive clothing and let them keep it, heaven forbid.

Then again, it wasn’t as if Freddie _wanted_ to keep those clothes. The sooner he could get rid of them the better.

“I need a drink,” he said. “Just a moment, darlings.” He went to untangle himself from Roger, but Roger pulled him back.

“And just _where_ do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

Freddie blinked at him, raising an eyebrow at Roger’s tight grip on his waist. “The bar, darling.”

“Oh yeah, I’m letting you go on your own when every Omega in here is half naked? Fat fucking chance, Fred.”

“Roggie, it’s just across the-”

“I’ll go,” Brian said. “What do you want, Freddie?”

“Brimi, this is ridiculous,” Freddie argued, though even he could hear how weak his voice sounded. He looked around again, taking in every last detail; these Omegas weren’t being treated like people. Even Foster’s wife was being shown off in her red dress like a trophy. He was the only Omega here that wasn’t half-naked, or being slapped and pinched and prodded. With Roger’s arm tight around him, no one would dare.

But would they chance it if he left Roger’s side?

Freddie would like to believe he was brave. He would also like to believe he wasn’t stupid.

He stayed where he was.

“Vodka tonic,” he mumbled.

Brian smiled at him, squeezed his shoulder and made his way easily through the crowd; new guy or not, once everyone realised he was an Alpha they moved aside.

“Are you okay?” Roger asked.

“Not really,” Freddie had to admit. The longer they stayed here the sicker he felt. He caught Paul staring at him and turned away, pressing his hand down on top of Roger’s. Roger, eyes full of concern, brushed his hair back and kissed the top of his head.

“No one here’s going to touch you, I promise,” he said.

But for the first time, Freddie found himself doubting that promise.

As Brian came back, Freddie spotted Sheffield in the crowd; he was looming over one of the waiters. The waiter looked as young as Deacy, round-faced and bright-eyed. He was also blushing, looking near tears as Sheffield’s hand slid down to his ass.

Freddie wanted to throw up.

Deacy saw what he was looking at and looked near tears; Brian’s breathing hitched and he glanced away, shuddering. Roger growled, going red. He angled Freddie away so he was looking at the dancefloor instead.

Looking at the murderous glint in Roger’s eyes, Freddie knew he’d made the right decision in disregarding the so-called clothes EMI had sent. If Roger was this pissed already, he might genuinely have hit Foster or Sheffield if he saw what they’d sent Freddie.

Actually, scratch that. He might have sent them to the hospital without a thought of the consequences. 

  
  
  
  
  


He probably should have known Roger (and subsequently, Brian and Deacy) would find out eventually.

The day before the clothes were to be returned, they set the boxes out in the living room. He should have known Roger would be nosey as soon as Freddie’s back was turned. He’d been a little too stubborn about refusing to open the box, of _course_ Roger went digging.

And of course Roger blew up.

“Freddie, what the _fuck_ is this!?” he roared from the living room. He was so loud that Freddie, pouring tea in the kitchen, dropped the kettle.

“ _Jesus,_ Roger, don’t _scare_ me like that!” Freddie snapped, hand on his pounding heart; the kitchen door was open and he immediately paled when he saw what Roger was holding.

The leotard.

_Fuck._

Deacy looked _grey,_ he looked like he was going to throw up. Brian was gaping, seemingly frozen. Roger on the other hand was vibrating with rage, red in the face, eyes sparking; his clenched fists were shaking, digging into the flimsy fabric so hard a seam tore.

“...I believe it’s called a leotard,” Freddie said; his voice sounded strangled and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so embarrassed. 

Well, no- there was the first time his family made him kneel on the floor instead of letting him sit on the furniture. That was seared in his brain forever, but this suddenly shot up the list.

“Don’t play funny,” Roger snarled. “What the fuck is this, Fred? Why didn’t you _tell_ us? Why didn’t you tell _me?_ ”

“Why do _you_ think?” Freddie snapped. He marched over and snatched the leotard out of Roger’s hands, shoving it back in the cardboard box and slamming the lid back on with way too much force. “It’s _humiliating,_ okay? And damn it, Roger, if you’d seen me in that you’d have gone after Sheffield, don’t pretend otherwise!”

_“So!?”_

“What do you mean _so!?_ ” Freddie whirled around and grabbed Roger by the shoulders. “You could land yourself in prison with that temper, you idiot! And _then_ what do you think will happen? Go on, tell me, what do you think will happen?”

Just like that, Roger wilted; Deacy had tears in his eyes and Brian pressed a hand to his mouth like he was trying not to vomit.

“...They could do whatever they wanted,” Roger whispered.

Freddie nodded.

“They scare me, okay?” he admitted. “You happy now?”

“No,” Roger said; his voice broke. Lip trembling, he hugged Freddie tightly, burying his face in his hair. “Christ, I wanted to vomit during that whole party, I- I wanted to kill almost every Alpha there, I...I can’t understand how they _do_ that.”

“Me neither,” Brian said. He got up and joined the hug, Deacy close behind. “But- listen to me, okay, guys? So long as it’s the four of us, so long as we stick together, we’ll be okay. So long as they believe you two are dating, you’re _safe,_ Freddie.”

Freddie nodded, but he didn’t think _anyone_ was safe at EMI.

He glanced at the box again and scowled; at the very least, Roger was allowed to tell them to not send anything like that again. At least they had that.

“Sorry for yelling,” Roger said after a while. 

“Well, think of it this way,” Freddie said. “This is something you _can_ tell them off for.”

“He’s right,” Brian added, squeezing them all tighter. “They think he’s yours; by all rights, you can accuse them of, well…”

“Encroaching on your property,” Deacy said with a hard edge to his voice. “That’s what the law says.”

Roger smirked, pulling away to kick the box across the room.

“Oh believe me, boys, they’re gonna wish they stayed in their lane.”

“Just be careful,” Freddie said. “Please, Rog.”

“I will,” Roger promised. He smiled sadly, kissing the top of Freddie’s head. “I can’t protect you from jail, can I?”

Freddie relaxed against him, letting all thoughts of EMI leave his mind. This was _Roger;_ Freddie wouldn’t doubt him and his promise again, not for one second.

All the same, he might have to ask Brian to go with Roger when he decided to speak with Sheffield and Foster. One of these days Roger’s temper would land him in trouble.

Roger wasn’t the only one that could do the protecting; Freddie had his ways too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing is, Sheffield's not even obsessed with Freddie like Paul is- this is genuinely how he treats all Omegas.
> 
> ALSO- I need a favour lads. If anyone has any actor recommendations for who should play teenage Theo in "Sing A New Song" PLEASE LET ME KNOW, I'm so stuck. (Not even a face claim. Just someone you think could do justice to our angst king.) If all else fails I'll just make up an actor.


	16. Freddie: Bubblegum Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie and Roger annoy Paul; Freddie meets a rather angry Omega.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song is peak Freddie energy and you know it.
> 
> I promised the boys trolling everyone and here it is; they're trolling Paul.

**America, 1974** **  
** **_“I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips. I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch, I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch. Queentex, latex, I'm your wonder maid. Life gave me some lemons, so I made some lemonade! Soda pop, soda pop, baby, here I come, straight to number one.” -Bubblegum Bitch,_ ** **Marina And The Diamonds**

If it wasn’t for how woozy Brian seemed Freddie would have said the tour was perfect so far. They were all at the afterparty of the show on the rooftop of the hotel and Brian had already gone back to his room; it was barely ten o’clock.

Despite his ever-growing concern, Freddie was having a blast until he ran into Paul.

“You look good tonight,” Paul said. Freddie had been doing his best to avoid him since his heat started; when Paul walked in on him and Roger in the dressing room, Freddie had been sure it would end in blood. It hadn’t, but Roger had been fuming for the rest of his rut. Good for Paul, Roger’s rut ended yesterday, but by Freddie’s calculations he still had two days of his heat left.

With that in mind and faced with Paul’s roaming eyes and wandering hands, he staggered back a step. “Thank you,” he said, keeping his voice as detached as he could. All the while his eyes swivelled around, looking for Roger.

As Paul’s hand cupped his hip, Freddie jerked back- straight into Roger, who automatically wrapped his arms around him.

“Everything okay, Fred?” he asked, resting his chin on Freddie’s shoulder. His grip was gentle and from this angle all Freddie could see of him was his hair, but he was willing to bet he looked furious.

“I’m okay,” Freddie said, leaning into him. Paul looked seconds away from screaming. Snarling, he turned away and vanished into the crowd.

“Good fucking riddance,” Roger scoffed. He turned Freddie to face him, smiling. “Wanna get shit faced?”

“God, yes please.”

  
  
  
  


Freddie could get used to rooftop bars. The view was incredible; a glass barrier surrounded the edge of the roof and long sofas were pressed against the glass. Every table had a lantern of multi-coloured glass. Honestly the only problem he had was how _chilly_ it was. By now he was way past tipsy, sitting on Roger’s lap and laughing as Deacy and Crystal had a dance-off.

“Go, Deacs!” Roger yelled.

Still giggling, Freddie rested his head on Roger’s neck and once more caught Paul’s eye. He was just _staring;_ he wasn’t even scowling anymore. He looked totally blank, but his eyes were still glinting furiously, there was an angry flush to his cheeks.

Damn it all, Freddie was _sick_ of being stared at.

He thought back to February, the night he convinced Roger to go off with that girl. He remembered hearing Paul moan _his_ name in the next room over; the sheer embarrassment kept him from telling Roger about it. And he remembered Roger’s suggestion for pissing Paul off.

Well, it wasn’t like they could make sex noises, but they _could_ tweak Paul’s nose.

“Darling?” Freddie murmured against Roger’s neck.

“Yeah, Fred?”

“Paul’s staring.”

He instantly felt Roger tense; his fingers dug into Freddie’s hip.

“Want me to go over there?” Roger asked.

“I was actually thinking we could piss him off,” Freddie said, peering up at him with a grin. 

“Oh?”

Freddie tapped Roger’s hip three times and watched as Roger’s grin turned downright maniacal.

“I like the way you think, Fred,” he said- and what started off as a few quick kisses quickly turned into a full-blown make out session. Freddie hadn’t been lying, Roger _was_ a good kisser; a series of wolf-whistles rang out, as well as Crystal yelling “Get it, Rog!” 

Roger pulled back slightly, smirking at him. His glanced over Freddie’s shoulder and snickered, kissing him again.

“He’s gone,” he said triumphantly. 

“Good bloody riddance,” Freddie scoffed. The wind picked up and he shivered.

“You okay?” Roger asked.

“Just chilly,” Freddie said, shrugging. It was his own fault for wearing a tank-top.

“Here, get up, I’ll go get your jacket,” Roger said. He didn’t wait for Freddie to move; he lifted him with ease, depositing him on the sofa.

“Rog-”

“I’m not having you lose your voice again, Fred.”

_Fair enough,_ Freddie thought. Roger marched off and Freddie leaned back on the sofa, watching the sky.

His thoughts were interrupted by an _“Ahem?”_

Startled, Freddie was jerked back into reality; a man, maybe a little older than him, was standing in front of him. An Omega, only an inch or so taller than Freddie with long brown hair in a braid.

“Can I help you?” Freddie asked.

“It’s just- I saw you and that- that _Alpha,_ ” the man said and Freddie blinked in surprise. He’d never heard someone sound so disgusted by the word ‘Alpha’ before. He was further surprised when the man said, “You don’t have to let him do that.”

“Do what?” Freddie asked frowning.

_“That!”_ The man pointed at Freddie’s neck and Freddie’s hand instinctively went to the mark on his neck. He drew himself up, glaring at the man, but he wasn’t deterred. “You don’t have to let him paw you about like that in front of everyone!”

“I started it,” Freddie said flatly. 

“Look, just because we’re Omegas doesn’t mean we _have_ to be with Alphas, times are changing-”

“I know that, dearie.”

“It’s just gross that he thinks doing that is okay. Just because you're in heat doesn't mean he can do that,” the other Omega said firmly and Freddie’d had enough. He stood up, getting right into the man’s face.

“Listen here, darling,” he said in a vicious whisper. “It was _my idea. I started it._ I _asked_ him to. What myself and Roger do is _none_ of your business. I don’t give a shit if he put his hand down my pants, unless I tell him to stop, _you_ fuck off, or do you not know what a happy relationship looks like?” He had his hands on his hips, his chin tilted up in his usual stubborn pose. “Quite simply: _who the fuck asked you?_ ”

“Freddie?” Roger was back, holding Freddie’s favourite floral jacket in his arms. “You alright?”

“Just peachy,” Freddie said, though he couldn’t keep the ice from his tone. He marched around the other Omega to Roger; his best friend immediately held the jacket out, helping Freddie into it.

“Off you trot,” Freddie said to the other Omega, waving his hand dismissively. 

“Fine,” the man spat. “Don’t come crying when he fucks you over.”

“Someone’s bitter,” Roger said, bewildered. “Who was that?”

“I’ve no fucking clue,” Freddie sighed. He’d freely admit there were a lot of reasons for Omegas to be bitter- but what was the point in trying to make everyone else bitter too? If someone was clearly happy, why interfere? 

“Come on,” he said, linking arms with Roger. “Let’s find Deacy.”

This time it was Freddie who led Roger away, humming under his breath as he did and Roger followed with a fond grin.

“You know you look like a grumpy cat when you get in people’s faces like that?”

“Oh, shut it, Blondie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by one of the girl's in my year at university; after her boyfriend cheated on her she went through a two-year phase of insisting all men were cheaters/pigs/etc and told every girl with a boyfriend in our class that their boyfriend would inevitably cheat on them.  
> As you can imagine, the sympathy wore off.


	17. Roger: Make A Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger goes to confront Foster about the skimpy clothes EMI sent Freddie; for once, with Miami's help, he manages to keep his cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I'm sure we'd all love for Roger to trash Foster's office it wouldn't do him (or Freddie) any favours; for now, he's gotta play the game.

**October, 1973** **  
** **_“Screaming in the dark while we just play our part, I'll play right along, like I don't know what's going on. Somebody make a move. Somebody make a move. Please, somebody make a move. We all know, we all know what's going on.” -Make A Move,_ ** **Icon For Hire**

It felt strange asking Miami for a favour; they’d only met the guy a few weeks ago and he seemed- well, a little awkward. He looked at the _Queen_ boys like he expected them to laugh at him at any moment.

But he was their lawyer and Roger wanted to make sure he had back-up, he wanted to make sure he got this _right._ For once, he wasn’t going to go charging in and yell his head off, he was going to do this _properly._ EMI thought he was Freddie’s Alpha and he’d make damn sure they remembered that.

Deacy had said he could accuse them of “encroaching on his property” but he wanted to make sure. What if he went storming into Foster’s office, caused a scene and just landed the entire band in trouble? What if he got _Freddie_ in trouble?

No, he’d do this properly.

So he called Miami.

“Hey, Miami, it’s Roger,” he said, trying to overcome his sense of awkwardness. Sure, he barely knew Miami, but the man was their _lawyer._ Roger was just asking him to do their job. “Listen, I need a favour.”

“Of course,” Miami said. There was some shuffling noises and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“You know that party Foster threw on Friday? Well, EMI sent us outfits for it, but...But Freddie’s was…”

“Inappropriate? Too revealing or sexual?”

“Yeah,” Roger said, mildly surprised. “How’d you know?”

“Classic case, it’s usually one of the first complaints I have to deal with in this job,” Miami said. “How bad was it?”

“Pretty bad,” Roger said. Sighing, he told him; Miami gave the occasional tut-tut or humming noise, but otherwise let Roger talk uninterrupted.

“So, like- I mean, I don’t want them thinking that’s okay,” Roger said. Still getting used to the whole act, it took him a moment to remember to add, “He’s mine, you know? If they’re gonna send him outfits I don’t want him half-naked.” A bit of an exaggeration, but close enough. “Deacy said it counts as...Uh...Encroaching on my property…” _God,_ but he felt gross saying that, but if Deacy was right (and that guy did his research on Omega rights), then that was the law’s exact words, tying into the law that let Roger beat up other Alphas for groping (or assaulting) Freddie. It was out-dated as hell, but it just might come in handy for once.

“It does,” Miami said calmly. If he could hear the disgust in Roger’s voice he gave no indication. “Exact wording actually. If you want to make a complaint you have every right to.” There was a brief pause and he added, “Do you want me to go to Foster with you?”

“Yes please,” Roger said in relief.

  
  
  
  


Monday morning and Roger called to arrange a meeting with Foster that afternoon; he felt almost absurdly grateful to see Miami already waiting for him at the front doors.

“Don’t worry,” Miami said. “Just handle this calmly and _they_ can’t complain.”

Foster didn’t look too happy to see them, but he plastered a smile on his face.

“Taylor, Beach,” he said, nodding to them. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about what you and Sheffield sent Freddie,” Roger said briskly. “I don’t appreciate it.”

For a moment, Foster actually looked nervous. “Oh?” he said. He clasped his hands together. “We sent all of you outfits; what was the problem?”

“You sent the rest of us outfits that _fit_ for one,” Roger said, making a show of carelessly twisting his bracelet, keeping his voice flat. After all, Freddie had told Sheffield the outfit didn’t fit- why change that now? “And the rest of us were _covered._ Freddie? Not so much. He may as well have had no top on when he squeezed into that leotard.” He stared Foster down, letting his anger show; his voice hardened as he added, “He’s _mine._ I don’t want you dressing him up.”

“I’m sure you thought you were helping, Ray,” Miami said smoothly. “But if Roger feels you were, ah... _Encroaching_ on his Omega…”

Foster pressed his lips together; his eyes flashed and for a moment Roger expected him to start shouting; before he could, Roger cut in.

“I don’t want you sending him things like that,” he said coldly. He forced himself to keep calm, to remember what he and Brian had rehearsed; “If you want to help us, that’s fine. But if you’re gonna do that you’re not to act like he’s some dress up doll. Just seems inappropriate, you know? Sends the wrong message.”

Foster stared at him; his eyes flicked almost _nervously_ to Miami, who just smiled calmly. 

“You meant well,” Miami said. “But you _did_ cause offence, and Roger has every right to make a complaint…”

“Fine,” Foster said through gritted teeth. Seemingly with great effort, he said, “I’m sorry, Taylor. I’ll have a word with Norman.”

“And you won’t send Freddie anything _inappropriate_ again?” Roger pressed. Foster was going red, but he nodded.

“Well then, that’s settled,” Miami said. Smirking, Roger all but strutted to the door.

“Cheers,” he threw over his shoulder; Miami ducked his head, hiding his own smirk as he followed Roger out the door. As the door closed, Roger heard Foster curse, but he was nearly laughing as they made their way to the lift.

“Thanks, Miami,” he said as they reached the ground level.

“Not a problem,” Miami said; he finally seemed less awkward, more relaxed. “It’s my job after all. Besides, Freddie’s sweet; I’d hate to think they’re trying to take advantage of him. He’s taken, they shouldn’t push their luck like this.”

“Too fucking right,” Roger said- and sure, Miami seemed kind, but Roger stared straight ahead, a part of him terrified that Miami would look at him and _know._

And honestly, as much as he wanted to rip Foster and Sheffield’s heads off, he had to admit, there was something satisfying about not rising to the bait. Foster had seemed stunned that Roger kept calm. But he _had_ kept his head, so Foster couldn’t complain.

For once, Roger had the upper hand.

  
(And, he soon noticed with satisfaction, Sheffield and Foster never sent Freddie anything skimpy and inappropriate again. From then on, if they ever sent _Queen_ clothing for events, Freddie was as covered as the rest of them.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miami is the newest member of the Freddie Mercury Protection Squad.


	18. Roger: Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long before the boys even meet Reid, Roger has to throw an abusive Alpha off Freddie's tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This nearly became it's own one-shot, someone stop me.
> 
> Anyways: mentions of domestic violence/abusive relationships towards the end of the chapter, as well as implied rape. As always, stay safe darlings 💕
> 
> (We'll be moving onto some Dominique content again soon.)

**November, 1970** **  
** **_“Sire, I have stolen, stolen many times. Raised my voice in anger when I know I never should. Liar! Oh, everybody deceives me. Liar! Oh, why don't you leave me alone?” -Liar,_ ** **Queen**

This mid-term assignment was going to be the death of him, but luckily his partner, another Alpha named Eric, was a hard worker; the assignment was a headache, but at least Roger wasn’t stuck with a slacker. And honestly, Eric was fun to work with. He had an easy-going sense of humor and he and Roger had similar _reputations,_ so they often ended up in a “Who Has The Crazier Sex Story?” contest. 

They were sitting at the kitchen table, brainstorming, when Freddie came in.

“Roger, do we have any- oh, God, sorry.”

Roger looked up and his eyes widened; Freddie was just wearing one of Brian’s huge hoodies that just barely hid his underwear, his hair pulled back in a messy bun. He’d been working on his own course work in his room all day; he’d had no idea Eric was here. If he had, Roger knew Freddie was have put some proper clothes on. He didn’t seem to give a shit if Roger or Brian saw him half-dressed (to Brian’s shock) but anyone else? He clammed up.

“Any what?” Roger asked weakly. 

“Any glue…” Freddie mumbled, eyes wide and trained on Eric. “Never mind.” He ducked his head and _fled._ His bedroom door slammed shut and Roger heard the lock click into place.

(That was another thing. When they’d started looking for a new flat, when they were planning on asking Freddie to move in with them, Brian had insisted they make sure Freddie had his own room.

_“Duh,”_ Roger had scoffed.

“And the bedroom doors need proper locks,” Brian insisted. Roger had looked up from his own hopeless flat search in surprise.

“What? Why?”

“He’s an Omega, we’re two Alphas,” Brian said flatly, if a little impatiently. “He hasn’t known us that long. I just think he should have the option to keep us out if he wants. He needs his own space.”

“You make us sound like predators!” Roger grouched- but he had to admit Brian had a point.)

Roger sighed, running a hand through his hair. Damn, if Freddie was in a shy mood, or if his assignment was making him anxious it’d be hard work to get him out of his room later.

He was about to laugh it off when Eric let out a low whistle.

“Shit, how do you get anything done with _that_ around?” he asked.

“Huh?” Roger turned to him; in his surprise, it took him a moment to get it.

“That’s your new singer, yeah?” Eric asked, leaning forward in his seat as if he’d be able to see Freddie through the walls. “Roger, are you _blind?_ He’s fucking hot!”

“Yeah, I...I know,” Roger said, suddenly uncomfortable. Because he _wasn’t_ blind, he knew Freddie was a looker and he’d seen how often people stopped to stare or did double-takes when Freddie walked by, but...But it was _Fred._ It was Freddie with his paint-stained leggings, Freddie who got distracted in the streets by stray cats. He was Roger’s _friend._

“Is he seeing anyone?” Eric asked. Roger shook his head. Eric’s smile grew. “D’you think he’ll say yes if I ask him out?”

“He’s pretty shy,” Roger said truthfully, because things like this tended to depend on Freddie’s mood. He could be flirty as hell, having men follow him like love-sick puppies with a crook of his finger and a wink...Or he could be shy and quiet, sticking close to Roger or hiding behind Brian. You could never quite predict how he’d feel.

“Well, if you-”

And that was when Freddie came back in, fully dressed this time, though he kept his eyes downcast as he bustled over to the cupboards.

“Top shelf, Freds,” Roger said; Freddie shot him a small smile, standing on tip-toe to reach the top shelf, but Eric (who was nearly as tall as Brian) stood up with a smile.

“Here, let me get that,” he said- and was Roger seeing things or did Eric make sure his fingers brushed Freddie’s wrist when he handed him the glue?

“Thanks, dear,” Freddie said. He peered up at Eric, some of the tension leaving him, though his smile had a nervous edge to it. Eric on the other hand, lounged against the counter with an easy-going smile, flicking his dark brown hair out of his eyes.

“No problem. It’s Freddie, right?”

Freddie nodded.

“I’m Eric.” Eric held his hand out, looking utterly delighted when Freddie shook it. And Roger- his chest felt weird. He realised, suddenly, that he didn’t like this. Because Eric was funny and laid back, but he slept around more than Roger did, and maybe it was daft of him, but...But Roger didn’t want Freddie to just be another notch in Eric’s belt. 

_He can make his own decisions,_ Roger told himself furiously, as Eric slowly managed to coax Freddie into conversation. _For fuck’s sake, he’s older than you. He’s a big boy, leave him alone._

But he still didn’t like it.

  
  
  
  


Eric convinced Freddie to go on a date with him that Friday; Freddie had winked at Roger and Brian on his way out the door, but to Roger’s surprise Freddie was back by midnight.

Roger was still awake watching TV; Brian had long since fallen asleep next to him on the sofa.

As the door opened he started in surprise. “Fred?”

“Hi, darling,” Freddie said. He glanced at Brian and lowered his voice. “What’re you doing up?”

“What’re you doing _back?_ ” He immediately started to take in every detail; Freddie smelled like Eric, his hair was a mess and his clothes were rumpled, but he didn’t _look_ bruised and he wasn’t limping or anything. “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Fine.” Freddie shrugged his coat off, flopping into the armchair. “Just told him I had an early train to visit my parents.”

“You don’t _have_ parents.”

“Well he won’t know, will he?” Freddie asked with a smirk.

“What did he do?” Roger demanded. “He didn’t hurt you did he? If he did I’ll-”

_“Roggie.”_ Freddie pressed a finger to his lips, jerking his head at Brian. Roger had been raising his voice without even realising. His mouth snapped shut. Freddie’s smile softened. “He didn’t hurt me. He’s _nice,_ I just…” He shrugged. “I don’t know, I didn’t really feel it. I wanted to come home, you know?”

“...Oh.” Roger slouched in his seat, offering an embarrassed grin. “I thought you were gonna say he’d slapped you about or something.”

“Don’t worry, darling, I’d release the hound if he did.”

“Hound?”

“ _You,_ you numpty.”

Roger’s grin widened. “So- not going out with him again?”

“No,” Freddie said. He tilted his head with a self-conscious smile. “I feel bad. He _was_ nice, just…”

“Just not for you?” Roger suggested. Freddie nodded, and Roger got it. He’d met a lot of perfectly lovely people that just...didn’t do it for him.

Freddie hauled himself to his feet.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to wash the smell of Alpha off me.”

“Slut,” Roger teased as Freddie passed; the Omega flicked him on the ear, giving an exaggerated sway of his hips.

“Only for you, darling,” he threw over his shoulder. Snickering, Roger blew him a kiss; Freddie caught it and made a show of throwing it back.

  
  
  
  


When Roger saw Eric at college on Monday, Eric immediately said, “You’re missing out, Rog. That Omega of yours is a fucking _wild cat._ The things he can do with his legs!”

Roger nodded along, mostly tuning Eric out- though he had to admit, there was something hysterical about this. Eric was praising Freddie as the best lay he’d ever had, whereas Freddie seemed to have forgotten their date already.

Part of him still felt bad. It wasn’t like Eric had done anything _wrong._

Though it soon turned out that Eric talked a _lot._

Eric was nice. His pal Wesley? Not so much. (Roger wasn’t really sure how those two got along, but there you go.)

  
  
  
  


After mid-term, Wesley cornered Roger on the way to class.

“You know your friend Freddie?” he asked. “The Omega?”

“...Obviously,” Roger said flatly.

“Eric told me about him,” Wesley said, eyes bright. “Said he was the best lay he’d ever had, super flexible.”

_“And?”_

“Here.” Wesley handed him a little slip of paper. “That’s our flat’s number. Tell him to call me, yeah?”

Roger looked at him; he took in his gleaming eyes, his smirk, the arrogant tone of voice; he thought of Wesley’s reputation and shook his head.

“I don’t think so.”

“What?” Wesley’s smirk fell. “Why the hell not?”

“None of your business,” Roger said coldly. He dropped the paper on the ground and began to walk away. Just his luck that Wesley ran after him.

“For fuck’s sake, Roger, I’m not looking to marry the guy!” he scoffed. “I’m just looking for some fun. He’s an Omega, I’m sure he is too, you know what they’re like.”

He knew what _Wesley_ was like. He knew what Wesley’s idea of _fun_ was. He thought of the long line of Omegas he’d seen Wesley with; sooner or later they always looked pale and tired. Sooner or later, bruises and scratch marks littered their skin. Sooner or later, the mere mention of Wesley’s name made them flee the room. 

One Omega boy had to go to the hospital for tearing.

And Roger thought of Freddie; sweet, tiny Freddie with his big shining eyes; Freddie, all soft skin and soft curves. Freddie, who Roger knew could handle himself; their tiny Omega had fists of steel, but he _loathed_ violence. Who knew what damage could be done before Freddie snapped?

Roger would rather chop his own arm off than let Wesley near Freddie.

So he said the one thing he knew would work on an Alpha like him.

“Yeah, you’re right, he is looking for fun- _with me._ ”

Wesley stopped, wrong-footed. He looked totally thrown off.

“I- what?”

“Eric said I was missing out,” Roger said smoothly, allowing a smug smirk to cross his face. He always felt sick to his stomach, having to act like he agreed with people like Wesley, as if they were buddies, as if they thought the same way, but it was the only way people like him _listened._ “I decided to find out for myself.” His smirk grew, even as he held back a shudder. He basically repeated what Eric had said. “Turns out he was right; I knew he was flexible, but...The things he can do are insane.”

“O-oh…”

“Yeah, _oh._ He’s mine. _Back off._ ”

“Well shit man, why didn’t you just _say_ so?” Wesley scoffed, and he left.

As soon as he was gone, Roger slumped against the wall, sighing in relief.

  
No, Roger couldn’t protect all those Omegas Wesley chased after, but he _could_ protect Freddie. He was pack. _No one_ fucked with Roger’s pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure most of us know someone who's perfectly nice, but one of their friends is a complete asshole?  
> Anyway...  
> Eric's nice, just not really Freddie's type. Wesley...He'd get along with Paul.  
> And Roger, as we see, has always had Freddie's back.
> 
> This is one of those moments in time where we could easily slip into the "Let The Feeling Grow" timeline, or continue on to the canon timeline.


	19. Freddie: I Think He Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie has a chat with Dominique.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for getting depressing, but full disclosure: a friend of mine died two days ago. I'm pretty much making a conscious effort not to spiral, so although I'd love to have the next chapter of this or "Let The Feeling Grow" done by tonight I can't make any promises. I'm finding it really hard to focus.

**1975** **  
** **_“He got my heartbeat skipping down 16th Avenue. Got that- ah, I mean, wanna see what's under that attitude like I want you, bless my soul. And I ain't gotta tell him, I think he knows. I think he knows.” -I Think He Knows,_ ** **Taylor Swift**

Freddie had never seen Roger so far gone on a girl. Usually Roger was confident; smooth and flirtatious. But once Dominique Beyrand showed up, Roger became tongue-tied.

And then, bless his awkward self, Roger asked her out on impulse.

Dominique said no. “You have a boyfriend!” she protested.

“I fucked up,” Roger groaned, face down on the sofa. “I fucked up big time.”

“We...We could tell her,” Freddie suggested cautiously. “She’s our  _ friend,  _ she’s not going to sell us out.”  _ He hoped.  _ “Besides, we’ve only a few months left. As soon as this album gets released EMI can’t touch us. If we just explain…”

“If we explain you could be dragged off by Sheffield to be his little toy for the next few months, or thrown at the highest bidder” Roger said fiercely; he raised his head to glare at Freddie. He still looked  _ upset,  _ but all-too stubborn. There was no way he’d budge.

But Freddie was just as stubborn.

So here he was, on Dominique’s doorstep.

“Hi,” she said, clearly surprised. “What’s up, Freddie?”

“It’s about Roger,” Freddie said, only for Dom to cut him off; “Oh God, Freddie, I  _ promise  _ I said no, I’m not interested, I-”

“But you are, darling. And so is he.” He took a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder. He couldn’t see any members of the press, but you could never be sure. “Can I come in?”

“...Okay.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


“What do you know about EMI’s contracts?” Freddie asked, as soon as he was seated. Dom was making them both coffee; she shot him a confused look over her shoulder.

“I know they don’t pay well,” she said. “The executives tend to hoard the money for themselves.”

“And do you know how they treat Omegas?”

“Badly,” Dom said, rolling her eyes. “Then again, you’re the first Omega they’ve hired in ages.” She handed him a cup and sat across from him. “I know they don’t pay you equally.”

“And their treatment of  _ single  _ Omegas?”

“No idea.” Dom paused. “...Wait. Why? You’re not…”

“Single?” Freddie sipped at his coffee, wondering if he was about to fuck up royally. Terrified he was about to become Sheffield’s sex toy for the next few months. “As far as they know I’m not. But…”

“But?”

“I am.” 

The poor girl was clearly baffled; her mouth hung open, she went to speak but stayed silent, blinking rapidly. “I...You’re...You’re  _ not  _ dating Roger?”

“I’m not,” Freddie confirmed.

“But why lie?” Dom asked, frowning. “I don’t understand.”

“EMI’s contract says that any single Omega artist will be assigned an Alpha by EMI executives,” Freddie said. That clause was burned into his brain. “Any Alpha they assign can take the Omega’s royalties, can demand they make music the Alpha wants...Basically the Alpha would be entirely in charge of the Omega’s image...And they can make  _ any demands they see fit,  _ in work or outside it. The clause says you have to treat the assigned Alpha as you would your  _ true Alpha. _ ”

“It’s about sex,” Dom said; she’d gone pale. She gulped, looking dangerously close to getting sick. “They’d expect you to sleep with them in exchange for being signed.”

“Basically, yes,” Freddie said, running a hand through his hair. “Paul’s constantly accusing us of lying, but that’s nothing new. Any time Roger and I aren’t all over each other, Sheffield asks if we’re breaking up.” He rolled his eyes, admittedly feeling ill himself. “Apparently I’m worth a lot of money.”

“God…” She reached out and took his hand. “I’m so sorry, Freddie.”

“We’ve only a few months left,” Freddie said, forcing a smile onto his face. “But that leads me back to why I’m here. Roger really cares about you, darling. You do too, don’t you?”

“I do,” she admitted. She smiled shyly, the first time Freddie had seen her look shy at all. “I really do.”

“Then go for it,” Freddie said. “We’re all good actors.”

“I don’t know, Freddie…”

“I’d hate to think I’m holding either of you back,” Freddie said. “Just- think about it, okay?”

She nodded and said, “I will.” Freddie supposed that was the best he could do.

  
  
  
  
  
  


A week later, Roger barged into his flat.

“Freddie, you little shit!”

Jerry hissed and ran under the coffee table; Tom hid behind Freddie.

“Please stop frightening my cats,” Freddie said.

“You went to Dom!”

“I did.”

_ “Why!?” _

“Because I’ve never seen you so head-over-heels for someone,” Freddie said impatiently. “And she’s clearly gone on you too. Roger, EMI won’t  _ know. _ ”

“You don’t know that,” Roger insisted.

“Oh for pity’s sake,  _ yes I do!  _ They haven’t figured us out so far, have they? We’ve only a few months left. We’re arranging the album next month, we’re nearly free of them! You...God, you’ve given up  _ everything  _ for me, Roggie, and you...I’ve really never seen you like this with a girl. I just...I want you to be happy, darling.”

“I am,” Roger insisted; he pulled Freddie to his feet, hugging him tightly. “For fuck’s sake, you’re more reckless than me sometimes.”

“You’re worse,” Freddie said with a smile. “For God’s sake, Roggie, just  _ think  _ about it. Promise me?”

“...No promises,” Roger said, but Freddie knew him.  _ Promise me,  _ were the magic words. Besides, it was obvious Roger had been doing nothing  _ but  _ thinking about it, and the same went for Dominique.

Roger and Freddie were good actors; they’d fooled EMI for two years now; they could keep it up for a few more months.

And then, thank God, they’d be free of those leeches; Roger could be happy and, fingers crossed, Freddie could find someone too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More details on Dom and Rog are intended for the finale, so this story won't be focusing on them or how they got together too much; after all, this one's about Freddie and Roger.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and I'll try get more chapters out soon.


	20. Freddie: Somebody To Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys learn that their fans ship them in many different ways...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need fluff and stupid things to distract myself, so please if anyone has any soft/funny prompts do let me know. I don't think we'll have many more chapters of this, so if there's anything you really wanna see, speak now.
> 
> Shoutout to "astheykissconsume" for the prompt: "how about the boys somehow finding out that their growing fan club is totally shipping them (in weird and wonderful combinations?"

**1974** **  
** **_“Got no feel, I got no rhythm, I just keep losing my beat (you just keep losing and losing). I'm OK, I'm alright (he's alright, he's alright). I ain't gonna face no defeat; I just gotta get out of this prison cell, one day (someday) I'm gonna be free, Lord! Find me somebody to love.” -Somebody To Love,_ ** **Queen**

Havings fans was amazing- it could also get bloody  _ weird.  _

Their fans weren’t just invested in their music, they were also invested in  _ them.  _ They wanted to know about their hobbies, their likes and dislikes, their families, where they grew up... _ everything.  _

And although a lot of people seemed to think Roger and Freddie were cute...Well, people also had  _ opinions.  _ And they were vocal.

Reid had set up a meet and greet, the first one they’d ever done. It was a bizarre experience; hundreds of people of all ages turned up to have their posters signed, or their vinyl and cassette cases signed; some people even wanted their arms signed. One man pulled up his shirt and asked Brian to sign his back.

And then one woman, a Beta around Freddie’s age said, “Y’know, I think you and Brian would be cuter together.”

“...Sorry, darling?” Freddie paused, pen hovering over her poster. 

“He just seems calmer, you know?” the woman said. “Seems more...stable, y’know? Like, Roger’s bad-boy thing is attractive and all, but in the long term I’d want someone more mature.”

“Roger’s more mature than you might think,” Freddie said, trying not to snap.  _ He’s protecting me from sexual abuse, you dumb bint!  _ “Don’t let the attitude fool you.”

“Oh, no offence!” she said quickly.  _ Too late for that, dear.  _ “I just- you and Brian would look great together. My sister thinks Brian and  _ Roger  _ should be together would you believe?”

Now  _ that  _ grabbed Freddie’s attention. He quickly signed the poster, looking at the woman curiously.

“Does she now?” he asked. “Does anyone else think that?”

“One of my coworkers thinks you and John would be sweet together,” she said brightly. “And  _ another  _ coworker says Omegas and Betas shouldn’t date, which is such old fashioned  _ bullshit,  _ you know? But, I just…” She shrugged. “I think you and Roger are sweet, really I promise I do. It’s just…” She cast a wistful look at Brian. “He’s so handsome.”

Despite his previous irritation, Freddie was biting back laughter. “Hm, I suppose. I’ll stick with Roger though, darling.”

The woman gave an embarrassed grin. “I crossed a line, huh? Sorry.” She picked up the poster, beaming at his signature. “Thank you.” She hurried off to get it signed by Deacy, and a young, bright-eyed Alpha boy took her place.

“I overheard that,” he said with a laugh. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen. “She’s being daft, you shouldn’t date Brian.”

“Thank you,” Freddie said, hand covering his grin. The teenage Alpha handed him a vinyl of their latest album, going rather pink in the cheeks when Freddie smiled at him.

“Roger’s lucky,” the boy mumbled, going even pinker. Freddie made sure to add a little love-heart to his signature.

Still, that woman’s comments were stuck on repeat in his brain. Were people seriously debating who he and his boys should date? Did some people truly prefer him with Brian? Some people wanted him to date  _ Deacy?  _

He wondered if the others were getting similar comments or not.

  
  
  
  
  
  


On the drive home, Freddie spoke up; “So apparently some people think I should date Brimi.”

“Fuck off, they said the same thing to me!” Brian said, twisting around in his seat to grin at him. “One girl kept cooing about our height difference!”

“I had a group of guys tell me I should  _ go for it  _ with Rog,” Deacy added. “They were probably  _ twelve! _ ”

“Yeah, same shit here,” Roger said, squinting at the road. “One girl said that me and Fred are adorable, but her friend kept talking over her and telling me I’d be cute with Deacy. The girl after them said I should date Brian instead.”

“Yes, apparently I’d be cute with Deacy too,” Freddie said blandly. “I’m rather getting the impression they think I’d be cute with anyone at this point.”

“One guy said he and his friends had a bet going on,” Brian said. “They bet we’re  _ all  _ together.”

“All four of us? How would that even work?” Deacy asked.

“Aw, sweetheart,” Freddie cooed, hugging him. 

“I don’t get it…”

“Think threesome plus one,” Roger grinned. “You know what a fourway is, right Deacs?”

“Hush!” Freddie clapped his hands over Deacy’s ears. “There are  _ innocent ears  _ in this van!”

“Yeah, not yours,” Brian laughed.

“I never said otherwise, Brimi, love.”

Deacy shoved Freddie’s hands off, rolling his eyes. “Okay, so...Our fans are interested in our love lives,” he said. “Just not our  _ actual  _ love lives.”

“Guess so,” Roger said, snickering. “They’re creative bastards, I’ll give them that.”

“Yes, but if one more person asks me if I bottom, I’ll scream,” Freddie said.

Roger caught his eye in the mirror and stuck his tongue out. “Yeah, we’ve swapped stories mate. If I remember correctly, you-”

_ “NOT IN FRONT OF DEACY!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this kinda helped.


	21. Roger: Red Ribbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting the Bulsaras, Freddie and Roger have a heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of "These Old Familiar Rooms" wherein the Queen boys meet Freddie's extended family. It, uh...Didn't go well.

**November, 1974** **  
** **_“Don't beat myself up ‘bout the things that didn't work out; least I can say is that I tried. I'll take this red ribbon, stitch my heart together, and I know I'll be fine. Remember all of the pain, was it all too much? Remember falling apart everytime we touch. Remember going insane, but I'll never give up.” -Red Ribbon,_ ** **Madilyn Bailey**

It was after eleven by the time the  _ Queen  _ boys got home; after the day they’d had, they all went straight to bed.

Roger was exhausted. Dealing with the Bulsaras was more draining than he’d expected. He tried to tell himself that they had a different culture; they had different values to him...But the way they spoke to Freddie made him sick. The sight of Sepehr Bulsara trying to force Freddie into kneeling on the ground made his blood boil. Watching Sepehr’s wife, Niesha, kneel the whole day and not speak unless spoken to had...Just upset him, honestly.

They didn’t seem to realise how great Freddie really was; they were more concerned with his bloody  _ virginity  _ than Freddie himself. Freddie was twenty-eight years old, but they all spoke to him like he was a child. A particularly dim, difficult child.

He was knackered. He was upset. He was still seething.

And he couldn’t sleep. Try as he might, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He tossed and turned, cursing under his breath- and then he heard Freddie and Deacy’s door open. Cautious footsteps made their way down the hall, he heard a light-switch click and then the sound of the kettle.

Well, fuck it; if Fred or Deacy were up he may as well get up too. Besides, maybe some tea would help.

Sure enough it was Freddie in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the floor. His hair fell in his eyes, he still had a smudge of eyeliner on. He didn’t look up when Roger walked in. He just kept staring at the floor, looking so horribly  _ blank.  _ He didn’t even look upset. He looked like he was feeling nothing at all.

But Roger knew better than that.

“Freddie?”

Freddie’s head jerked up, eyes wide.

“Christ, Roger, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“You call that sneaking?” Roger scoffed. He pulled two mugs from the cupboard, setting about making the tea. “You were a million miles away.” He glanced at Freddie over his shoulder. “What’s up?”

For a moment, it looked like Freddie would try to play the  _ I’m fine  _ card. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. Roger was just about to ask again when Freddie spoke; “I’m sorry about today, darling. That must have been...uncomfortable for you all.”

_ “What?”  _ Roger turned to face him fully, nearly dropping the kettle. “Freddie, don’t be daft. I’d reckon it’s worse for  _ you,  _ they treated you like crap!” He jerked the fridge open, wondering what sort of sight he made, angrily making tea of all things. Freddie’s lips twitched in amusement, but his smile vanished as he and Roger sat at the cramped kitchen table.

“...Was it always like that?” Roger asked. “I mean, you told me about your parents. I know they...They treated you like you were helpless and stupid, but- but what about everyone else?”

“Kashmira never changed,” Freddie said fondly. “She just...Treated me like usual. Even when they told her I needed  _ special consideration,  _ she never changed.”

“And the rest?”

Freddie sighed, ducking his head; he immediately scowled and straightened up again. “Yes, they were always like that,” he admitted. “As soon as I presented as an Omega, they  _ all  _ started acting like I was stupid and helpless...Like I was going to break if they so much as let me go for a walk alone. Bapuji and Baa especially, they constantly said that Mama and Papa were letting me run wild...And by their standards, they  _ were. _ ”

He hated to ask, but he had to; “Did they really make you sit on the floor?”

“Not unless family or important guests were over,” Freddie said with false cheer. He wouldn’t look Roger in the eye. “Compared to most of my classmates, I had it easy, really. I was allowed to wear what I wanted; they never made me wear a veil. I was allowed out without an escort and my curfew wasn’t  _ too  _ bad.” He smirked and added, “Though I still sneaked out a lot.”

“Veil?” Roger’s eyes narrowed. “Like the one Niesha was wearing?”

“Yes, like that,” Freddie said. “Baa gave me one for my birthday, but I never wore it.” He shrugged. “I just threw it in a drawer and never looked at it again.”

“Dazmen would have made you wear that, wouldn’t he?” Roger asked quietly. Freddie shrugged again.

“Probably, darling.”

“And he would have been allowed to fix your teeth without consent.”

“Yes.”

“And shag you without consent.”

“...Yes.”

_ “Fucking hell, Fred.”  _ Roger buried his face in his hands; he laughed, though there was nothing funny about this, but it was either laugh or cry. “How do you not hate them?”

“I do.”

He looked up, startled. Freddie was smiling, but he looked near tears.

“I hate them,” Freddie said; there was a hysterical edge to his voice. “I hate them, but I love them. I don’t know why I can’t just hate them and leave it at that. I should, shouldn’t I? They genuinely  _ don’t _ respect me, they think I’m fragile...My parents have improved, but they still think I need looking after. They don’t believe I can handle myself. But the rest of them…” He shook his head and wiped furiously at his eyes. “They barely see me as a person. Most people over here look at me and see a sex toy, they just see a  _ doll.  _ Something fragile and pretty to dress up and keep on a shelf.”

Roger wondered how long Freddie had been holding this all in for; he looked shocked at himself, like he couldn’t quite believe he was saying all this. But something in his eyes hardened as he said; “I hate Bapuji and Baa. I hate Uncle Sepehr and Uncle Amjad...I think I even hate Nanami and Nanabapa.” He scowled, his nails digging into the table. “I hated Dazmen when I met him...You should be glad not everyone could make it, you’d  _ definitely  _ hate most of my cousins, darling. I just…” He dropped, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sick of no one taking me seriously.”

He looked tinier than ever; he looked completely worn out.

That wouldn’t do.

Roger reached out and grabbed Freddie’s hand, holding on tight.

“I do,” he said. “Brian does, Deacy does. Mary does, so do Veronica and Chrissie- and I know Miami does too. Christ, Fred, our fans  _ adore  _ you, they treat your word like gospel.”

Some light came back into Freddie’s eyes as he smiled, resting his free hand on top of Roger’s.

“Thank you, darling.”

“I’m always here if you need to talk, you know that,” Roger said, and he meant it. “You’re allowed to be angry with them, Freddie. You don’t  _ owe  _ them some undying loyalty just because you’re related. They treated you like shit for years and they treated you like shit today.” (Though he had to admit, he’d been surprised when Bomi defended Freddie.) “You’re allowed to be upset; you’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to be angry,” he repeated, just like Freddie always did when Michael Taylor was mentioned. “You don’t have to be happy all the time.”

Freddie pulled his hand from Roger’s grasp; Roger was about to apologise, wondering if he’d crossed a line, when Freddie stood up and hugged him instead. Grinning, Roger yanked Freddie down onto his lap, laughing at Freddie’s startled yelp.

“You’re brilliant, Fred,” Roger said softly.

Freddie clung to him, resting his head on Roger’s shoulder.

“Love you, Rog.”

“Love you too, Fred.”

Smiling, Roger finally felt at least somewhat relaxed. It had been a long and emotionally draining day, but he’d yet to come across a situation that some quiet time with his best friend couldn’t fix- and besides, if Freddie needed to talk he’d never begrudge him that.

Freddie seemed to think he had to be strong and happy all the time; Roger had still yet to convince him it was okay to be upset sometimes.

Well, he had a lifetime to work on it. Because he meant it; he wouldn’t leave Freddie no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie's got some conflicted feelings going on; on one hand, he loves his family. On the other hand, he's seriously angry with them. Can't say I blame him.  
> Not long in this story left to go, so if anyone has anything they really want to see, lemme know (I'm hoping to troll Paul at least one more time)
> 
> (Also, Amjad is Bomi's other brother, Anahita's father)


	22. Roger: Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger's in rut, and Freddie and Brian know just how to annoy him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to "articas_ursula" who requested "to see Freddie make Roger a bit jealous for fun. Not in a mean way, but in a "give me attention please!" way."  
> Let the sulking commence!

**February, 1975** **  
** **_“Oh, don't give us none of your aggravation, we had it with your discipline. Oh, Saturday night's alright for fighting, get a little action in. Get about as oiled as a diesel train, gonna set this dance alight. ‘Cause Saturday night's the night I like. Saturday night's alright, alright, alright!” -Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting,_ ** **Elton John**

Roger could admit he was a lot to handle when he was in rut. He’d never pretended otherwise, what would be the point in that? He knew it, his friends knew it.

And right now, Freddie and Brian were driving him  _ nuts.  _

They were throwing a party; Deacy had already moved out with Veronica (and hadn’t  _ that  _ been a drama and a half), but he, Freddie and Brian were moving on to their own places soon, so why not have one last hurrah? 

Just Roger’s luck his rut came later than expected. He was usually right on time; he blamed the stress of moving and trying to organise the final album for this. Foster was constantly on their case to sort out a theme and when they wanted it to be released, yet he constantly kept them busy with interviews and photoshoots and last minute events. It drove Roger mad.

Watching Freddie cuddle up to Brian was driving him mad too.

He knew damn well they were just doing it to get a rise out of him; he knew all too well, it was just to annoy him...But the primal part of his brain was  _ screaming,  _ because  _ he  _ was the one who looked after Freddie.  _ He  _ was the one Freddie went to when he needed a hug or someone to talk to, or just when he wanted company in general.

(So he was a little smug at being Freddie’s favourite. Sue him.)

Yes, he was sulking in the corner. Yes, he was feeling left out- which was so  _ childish,  _ he told himself. They were grown adults. If Freddie wanted a cuddle off Brian that was his call. 

But Roger was in rut, and possessive and  _ angry-  _ but it wasn’t like some sleaze was slobbering all over Freddie, it was just  _ Brimi.  _

Speaking of, the bastard glanced at Roger, took one look at his sulking face and grinned, burying his face in Freddie’s hair. Stupid Brian. Stupid scrawny poodle-hair man. 

Fuck’s sake, he needed to chill.

He turned away, telling himself to just  _ calm down.  _ They were in their own home, they were at their own party and it was  _ Brian  _ of all people, it wasn’t like Freddie was in danger. No Prenter to be seen, thank God. 

Next thing he knew, he had a lapful of Freddie; the Omega was clutching a glass of beer, smiling at him.

“Okay, Roggie?”

“Fuck off,” Roger snapped- but he automatically pulled Freddie closer, pressing his nose against the mark on his neck. It was fading, just barely there, but if you breathed deeply you could tell Freddie’s scent was mixed with his. 

“Oh my God, Brimi was right, you  _ are  _ jealous!”

“Am not,” he denied, even as his grip on Freddie tightened. Freddie leaned over him to set his beer down, wrapping his arms around Roger, small hands resting on his back.

“You’re so easy to annoy, you know that?”

“But I’m still your favourite,” Roger said. Freddie laughed, quickly kissing the top of his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “You are, darling.” He snickered and added, “Don’t tell Deacy.”

“Poor bastard would be crushed.”

“You looked ready to punch poor Brian,” Freddie said. Roger pulled back to look at him; Freddie was pouting, and with mock-sternness he added, “You scared him silly.”

“Oh, did I?” Roger grinned. “He looked more amused than scared.”

“Yes, well, that too,” Freddie shrugged. “He reckons he can take you.”

_ “Good fucking luck!”  _ Roger laughed; Freddie grinned and he let him relax fully. “I’d knock him flat.”

“You’d knock most people flat, darling.”

And, okay, he preened at that. He couldn’t help it. An Omega complimenting his physical prowess? One of his all-time favourite people acknowledging (albeit, in a roundabout way) that he could protect his pack? His poor instincts were having a field-day. He purred before he could stop himself, and Freddie’s smile grew.

“Damn right I would,” Roger said proudly.

Freddie gave a happy little hum, letting Roger tug him back in for a hug.

“So if I want to annoy you all I have to do is cuddle someone else? Good to know, Rog.”

Roger’s grip automatically tightened.

“Don’t you dare.”

He could feel Freddie smile against his neck.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Society: Omegas are clingy during heat. Alphas don't need that shit.  
> Roger: Deacy, hold my beer.  
> (Alphas can be damn clingy too, but will society acknowledge that without excusing it as "they just need to protect their family" or some such? Absolutely not. Will Roger just outright state he's clingy? Yes.)
> 
> Only two more chapters to go and we're done! Thanks for reading 💕


	23. Freddie: Teen Idle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Freddie's surprise, Mrs Julie Foster wishes to speak with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be a flashback in the finale, but it doesn't quite fit the flow anymore- yet I couldn't bear to get rid of it all the same.  
> WARNING: sexual harassment, mentions/hints of an abusive relationship and objectification.

**November, 1973** **  
** **_“Yeah, I wish I'd been, I wish I'd been, a teen, teen idle. Wish I'd been a prom queen, fighting for the title, instead of being sixteen and burning up a bible. Feeling super, super, super suicidal. The wasted years, the wasted youth, the pretty lies, the ugly truth. And the day has come where I have died, only to find I've come alive.” -Teen Idle,_ ** **Marina And The Diamonds**

Cocktails parties weren’t that interesting, Freddie soon realised. It was awfully _fancy,_ but the novelty soon wore off. There was no real food, just little canapes and the music was very quiet; you could barely hear it. Freddie liked classical music, but you really had to strain your ears to hear this one.

It was Sheffield’s party, one of those _business_ parties where he basically showed off how rich he was; he and his friends and associates pretty much lorded it over their employees. Contracts were negotiated and various bands and solo artists were shown off like trophies. Typically, all the waiters and waitresses were all Omegas and all of them were scantily dressed; the bartenders, at least, were fully clothed in their black outfits. The other Omega artists (not that there were many) were also showing more skin than necessary.

Well, he supposed that made sense in an awful way; they were all solo artists. They didn’t have a band backing them up and unless their managers were particularly kind, who’d object on their behalf? Some of them, Freddie knew, had been around for years, but they remained small names. Some of them he’d never even heard of.

Normally, Freddie could deal with it all. The party was dull, the executives’ behaviour was gross, but he had his boys with him.

No, what made his skin crawl was the _comments._ That damn nude photoshoot had only been two weeks ago. The photos had, to Freddie’s disgust, proven highly popular. And sure, there were some comments aimed at his boys (which was bad enough in itself) but everywhere Freddie went, people turned to look at him. They stared, they whispered, they giggled. As Freddie came back from the bathroom, an executive from another company came up to him with Sheffield.

“So, this is Freddie Mercury,” the stranger said with a leer. He was a tall, heavy-set Alpha somewhere in his fifties. His suit alone looked like it cost more than Freddie’s apartment. “Well, I must say you look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you,” Freddie said, eyeing him warily. He shrank back from Sheffield, reminding himself to act as the man wanted him to; Sheffield wanted to think he’d broken Freddie and for now it was safest to let him think he had. He twisted his ring around his finger, resisting the urge to shove his hands in his pockets. Once more, EMI had sent him and his boys clothing for tonight; this time, he was pleased to note, his clothes were _appropriate_ for the occasion. Like the others, he wore a suit; his was a deep red with a black shirt. He’d forgone the tie, leaving the top buttons undone.

“Freddie, this is Henry Fitzherbert,” Sheffield said with his usual smug smile. “He’s the head of Turned Up Records.”

Fitzherbert held his hand out, but when Freddie went to shake it he tugged Freddie closer, quickly kissing his knuckles. It took all of his self-control not to jerk back in surprise.

“I understand you have an Alpha?” Fitzherbert asked, and Freddie’s skin crawled.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. He flicked his hair off the mark on his neck; Fitzherbert eyed it and sighed, shaking his head.

“Pity,” he said. He still had ahold of Freddie’s hand; their gazes locked and Fitzherbet leaned in, leering all the more. “Norman sent me early copies of those nude photos of yours,” he whispered. “What’ll it cost to have a private session, hm?”

Snarling, suddenly furious, Freddie jerked away; the two Alphas had the nerve to look surprised.

“I’m not for sale,” Freddie snapped. Standing as tall as he could, making sure to sneer in disgust, he looked Fitzherbert up and down and added, “And even if I was, you couldn’t afford me, darling.”

“Watch yourself, Freddie,” Sheffield warned. Freddie glared at him, far too angry to keep acting repentant as he had at work. _Fuck you!_ he wanted to scream. Who the fuck did they think he was? 

But common sense prevailed. Swallowing his disgust, he bowed his head and muttered, “Sorry, sir,” before fleeing.

He just wanted to get back to his boys, he could see them gathered at the bar, all of them were looking around worriedly, clearly looking for _him-_ but before he could reach them, one of the waiters grabbed his arm, balancing a tray of canapes on his free hand.

“Mrs Foster wants to talk to you, sir,” the waiter said.

_I’m not a sir,_ Freddie thought blankly. No one had ever called him _sir_ in all his life. And why on earth would Foster’s wife want to speak with _him?_ “Er...Thank you, darling,” he said, steadfastly ignoring the poor man’s bare chest; he scurried away, across the room to Mrs Foster.

It was a very large room, rather dimly lit but richly decorated. The tables were all very tall but tiny, only able to seat two people on shiny stools- and at one of these tables was Mrs Julie Foster. For once, Freddie couldn’t see Foster anywhere.

As usual, she was beautifully done up, wearing only the best of the best...But she kept tugging on her low-cut neckline, trying to tug it up, and under all her make-up, she looked tired. The bond mark on her neck was obvious, but Freddie was certain that was a _bruise,_ not a hickey, right next to it. He was pretty sure he could see a bruise on her leg too.

She offered him a wan smile.

“Have a seat, little bird,” she said; her voice was nearly as quiet as the music. Freddie had to lean in to hear her. It was a curious nickname, he thought, yet it was the only thing she called him. They’d met her last month, when Foster was showing _Queen_ off at his latest signing; she’d eyed Freddie curiously. In fact, she’d appeared confused by his presence...And throughout the whole conversation, she’d only called him “little bird.”

“Don’t you look handsome tonight,” she said with a soft smile. 

“Thank you, Mrs Foster,” Freddie said; she shook her head.

“Call me, Julie, little bird.”

Somehow, the fact that she had the same name as Deacy’s little sister just made Freddie feel even worse. All the same, he nodded and her smile widened a fraction...But her smile vanished entirely as she frowned into her drink. The glass was full, it didn’t look like she’d so much as taken a sip, but she still looked unfocused. Was she drunk? Or just tired? He wasn’t sure.

Abruptly, she spoke; “That Alpha of yours. Roger. He treats you well?”

Needless to say, he was surprised.

“Yes Mrs- I mean, Julie. Yes. He does.”

When she looked at him, there was a new (and shocking) icy look in her eyes. “You must do whatever he wants, you understand?” She grabbed his wrist, squeezing tightly. “Whatever he wants, little bird. He may cheat on you, he may humiliate you, he may hurt you, but you _must_ do as he says. You can’t afford to have him dump you. I know what my husband’s contract says. He thinks I don’t listen, Norman thinks I don’t listen, but I _know_ how many Alphas would happily buy you. They’ll hurt you, you understand, little bird? That photoshoot was _nothing_ compared to what they can really do. You can’t let them hurt you. You _cannot_ let Norman have you. Anything Roger may do will pale in comparison. Are you listening to me?” Her grip tightened, her nails dug into his skin. _“Are you?”_

“I’m listening! I-” Freddie tried to pull away, but her grip tightened impossibly. Her lip trembled, but she looked _furious._

“Whatever he wants,” she repeated. Her grip slackened and to Freddie’s mounting horror, her eyes brimmed with tears. “Don’t let them hurt you.” She glanced around at the other Omegas and that awful dead look came back. “You’re strong,” she said, so softly that Freddie barely heard you. “You’re only a little older than my son…”

Somehow, it had never occurred to Freddie that Foster might have _children._ It was an almost morbidly fascinating thought.

“...Is he an Omega too?” Freddie asked.

“No,” she said, finally releasing him. “He’s an Alpha, lucky boy. They all are…”

“Oh…” Freddie rubbed his wrist, unsure of _what_ exactly he was supposed to say. He hadn’t thought Mrs Foster had been paying any attention to him at all. Why would she? And yet, she had been.

In her own way, she was trying to help.

But her advice made his blood run cold for two reasons: one- she was advising him to let his supposed-boyfriend abuse him if it came down to it. Two- ...Just what would Sheffield _do_ to him if he knew Freddie was actually single? 

He didn’t dare ask.

“Julie?” Foster was back, holding his own cocktail, scowling at Freddie. 

“Just complimenting the little bird on his voice, my love,” she said with a sweet smile. “I think he may be the best singer you’ve found so far.”

Foster huffed. “Well, you would, wouldn’t you?” He set his drink down; Freddie hopped off the stool, ignoring Foster’s glare. Part of him wanted to grab Julie Foster and get her out of here, get her _away_ from this utter pig. 

He hated that he couldn’t. 

He went to thank her, if only to make her smile again, when Roger joined them and wrapped an arm around his waist. Julie’s eyes dimmed; she stared at Roger’s hand and she flinched when Foster patted her thigh.

“Freddie?” Roger was peering at him with concern. “Everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” Freddie said, forcing a smile. “Mrs Fo- Julie was just offering me some advice.” He hoped his smile looked sincere when he turned to her. “Thank you.”

She brightened somewhat, but all he could focus on was how utterly _defeated_ she seemed as Foster tugged her closer.

He let Roger lead him away, back to their pack.

_That’s not me,_ he thought, biting back a growing wave of anger. He was disgusted with Foster, with Sheffield, with Fitzherbert...He was disgusted with almost every Alpha (and even a few Betas) there. _That’s not me._

Freddie was no toy for them to play with; one day, he’d prove that to them all. One day, the world would know his name and love it.

He wasn’t their little sex toy; he wasn’t some pretty piece of arm candy; he wasn’t a trophy to show off and brag about.

And he’d _never_ look so broken down. _Never._

_That’s not me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter after this! I promise the last one is much happier.
> 
> Julie means well, but her advice will never be suited to someone like Freddie.


	24. Freddie: You Found Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of an era...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, lads! The last of the fake-relationship snippets. This has been a lot of fun to write, and thanks for all the suggestions- and, as always, thanks for reading 💕

**November, 1975** **  
** **_“You found me, when no one else was lookin’. How did you know just where I would be? Yeah, you broke through all of my confusion; the ups, and the downs, and you still didn't leave. I guess that you saw what nobody could see. You found me. You found me.” -You Found Me,_ ** **Kelly Clarkson**

At long last, the album had been released; _A Night At The Opera_ was now available to the public and _Queen_ were finally free from EMI. Just as Freddie had sworn it would be, it was their best album yet, their most theatrical. 

And, in an odd way, Foster had been right: critics were lukewarm to outright dismissive about _Bohemian Rhapsody..._ But Freddie had been right too, because the fans _loved_ it.

One month later and the full album was released. Sure, Foster had kicked up a fuss about _Queen_ walking out, but Miami had cheerfully pointed out that as the album was complete, _Queen_ were free to distance themselves and start looking for a new label. Now that they were out of EMI, they already had other record companies swooping in looking for deals. Nothing had caught their eye yet (one company’s contract was even worse than EMI’s), although there _had_ been some good deals. They were hopeful, for the first time in a long while.

Since they’d walked out of Foster’s office there hadn’t been an official release party, so the boys threw one themselves, which was how Freddie found himself curled up in his bed with Roger, both of them trying not to doze off yet. Bleary-eyed, he glanced at the clock; it was way past midnight.

“I can’t believe it’s finally over,” Freddie said, yawning. 

“What, the party?” Roger asked, raising an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“I _mean_ we’re finally done with EMI, you idiot,” Freddie said, slapping him on the arm. He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to stay awake. They had a lot to talk about. “...You’re free to move in with Dom, now.”

“Yeah…” Roger’s smile was wistful. It soon faded. “Huh. Guess that means we’re, uh- we’re done, huh?”

“Guess so, darling,” Freddie said softly. He turned on his side to face Roger, who automatically reached out to pull him closer.

He could almost laugh; two years ago they’d both been embarrassed and awkward at the start. They’d been terrified that they weren’t convincing enough, that EMI would figure them out. Then they’d worried that maybe they were laying it on too thick and _that_ would give them away. They’d worked on their own little signals, they’d had many a talk about boundaries; they’d fumbled a few times, but they’d pulled it off. They managed it for two years straight. The only one to ever suspect them was Paul, and that was due to his jealousy.

And Freddie would be lying if he said the thought of Paul didn’t make him feel sick. He thought of Ridge Farm and an involuntary shudder ran through him.

“You okay?” Roger asked.

“Just...Ridge Farm,” Freddie said, pressing his face against Roger’s shoulder. “Ignore me, darling, it’s silly.”

“No, it’s not,” Roger said firmly. His hand ran through Freddie’s hair, barely suppressed fury evident in his voice. “That bastard tried to-” He cut himself off with a low growl. “You’re safe,” he added, though whether he was trying to convince Freddie or himself, Freddie wasn’t certain.

But Freddie nodded all the same, if only to make Roger happy. “I know,” he said. And he _was_ safe now; no more Foster, no more Sheffield, no more Paul...He didn’t doubt they’d still have some entitled (if not outright predatory) executives to deal with it, but they weren’t those desperate, unknown kids anymore; their popularity had soared. Surely, _surely,_ they could now find a company that would treat him fairly? They’d had some good offers so far, and God knew Sheffield kept trying to entice them back. Surely Freddie really _was_ safe now?

“You’re right, Rog,” he said, tilting his head up to meet Roger’s eyes. “I’m safe now.” He smiled gently, poking Roger on the nose. “So, yes, _this_ is over now too.”

“It’s gonna be weird,” Roger said with a wry grin. “We’ve kept this up for two years and now it’s just...Just done.”

“Well, we’ll have to wait a while to announce it to the press,” Freddie pointed out. “We can afford to raise suspicion, not now.” He shrugged ruefully. “But yes, it _is_ done. And it _is_ strange.”

“God, they’re gonna be insufferable,” Roger groaned. “I can hear the invasive questions already.”

“Tell me about it,” Freddie scoffed. He knew damn well the press would insinuate this “break-up” was all Freddie’s fault. They’d likely insist this would break up the entire band too. They were rather predictable like that. 

But what did it matter? They were all moving forward; Deacy had Veronica and baby Robert. Brian had Chrissie, and now Roger had Dominique. Hopefully Freddie could find someone too. 

To his surprise, Roger reached down to tap his hip three times in quick succession. 

Smiling fondly, Freddie reached up to kiss him. He was equally surprised when it didn’t prove to be a quick peck; Roger held him there, kissing him softly but slowly until Freddie had to pull back for air.

“What was that for, darling?”

Roger grinned at him, pushing Freddie’s hair off his face. “May as well go out with a bang, yeah?”

Freddie raised an eyebrow and Roger’s grin faltered slightly.

“I don’t want the last person to have kissed you to be Prenter,” he admitted. “Okay? I just...Don’t want to leave you brooding on that.”

“You’re sweet,” Freddie said with a laugh. Amused as he was, he did find it oddly sweet. “You’re not to brood on it either, Roggie, you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir,” Roger said, saluting. Both of them were giggly, exhausted and riding high on triumph. They were _free,_ they never had to go near EMI again; Paul had been fired and after the beating Roger had given him, he wasn’t coming back. No more harassment, no more abuse; no more dealing with Paul’s obsessive behaviour. Please God, no more dehumanization. They finally had some room to make demands of their own.

“Thank you, Roggie,” Freddie said, smiling up at him. “For everything.”

“Any time, Fred,” Roger said happily, squeezing him tightly. 

It was going to be odd living alone for real. It was going to feel strange not having his boys around all the time, and now they had two years of habits to break- it would take some work.

But although Freddie was nervous, he was mostly excited; there was so much to look forward to.

Besides, Freddie reminded himself; he wasn’t _really_ alone. Just because they weren’t living together anymore didn’t mean he really alone. 

He still had his boys. 

He still had Roggie- and Roger had made it plain, time and time again, that wouldn’t change.

Freddie had always been an optimist: he was sure they’d be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My boys. They are soft.
> 
> Still to come in this series...  
> 1) the rest of "Let The Feeling Grow"  
> 2) hopefully some Theo content if I can think of something good 😅  
> 3) hoping to work in a one-shot wherein Jim, and maybe some others, gush about Freddie some more, because we deserve some soft husband content, and just some cuteness.  
> 4) the finale!
> 
> If anyone has any questions or requests regarding this series that they don't wanna leave in the comments, or even if you just wanna yell at me about Queen, I'm on tumblr @paladinmoony
> 
> Thanks for reading! 💖

**Author's Note:**

> Freddie and Roger say screw their society and screw Omega/Alpha roles.  
> Once again, if anyone has anything they really wanna see, let me know! ❤


End file.
